The Emerald Wanderer
by Jersey13
Summary: Colonel Sheppard and his team find a world of seafaring people, only to fall victim to a kidnapping plot that could involve them in a brutal war as they search for their missing teammates. [Gen, team plus Beckett fic] Now complete!
1. Birth of The Emerald Wanderer

TITLE: The Emerald Wanderer

AUTHOR: Jersey13

RATING: T

WARNINGS: Violence, some sexually suggestive dialogue in certain scenes. This fic is not for small children.

SUMMARY: Colonel Sheppard and his team find a world of sea-faring people, only to fall victim to a kidnapping plot that could involve them in a brutal war as they search for their missing teammates.

NOTES: If there's too many words in this fic that you don't understand, try googling for a page called "A Pirate's Glossary of Terms". The first page that comes up was the page I used the most as a reference.

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A/N: Yes, this is an SGA fic, even though this first chapter here doesn't have the team in it. This is sort of a prologue to the actual story, and is meant to give some background information on this character I have created for you all. The team DOES appear in the next chapter.

On another note... I am NOT a sailor, nor have I ever been on a boat more than once or twice in my entire life, and I get sick as a dog, too. If I have misused or mangled any terminology or words here despite my research, please message and tell me about it, and I'll fix it.

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"Aiye! Boy! Get down from thar an' start swingin' tha lead. We're headin' inta shallower waters." 

A small, bright face timidly peeked over the rim of the crow's nest, and then carefully began to up climb up and over its edge. With a well-practiced hand, the boy, whose years of age could only have been barely past the single digits, threw his lanky form over the ledge and began to expertly climb down the main mast. Upon reaching the deck, his emerald green gaze passed across the deck of the ship until he spied the lead lying to one side. Picking it up in his small hands, he wound the line a bit, and then threw the lead over the ship's gunwalls.

Turning a sly eye warily back toward the captain, the boy breathed a slight sigh of relief to see that he'd turned his gaze out toward the horizon. A small, proud smile still echoed in his features, though, and so the boy returned to his duty, as menial and simple as it was. To swing the lead was simply to measure the relative depth of the water that the ship was sailing through; a simple task, even for a small boy.

A stiff and chilly ocean breeze began to bite into his back as he hauled the line up and threw it again. The season had been turning mostly unawares to the rest of the crew, but this day had certainly been the turning point of autumn for them all. When the temperature was just right and the waters were warm and calm, faint wisps of water vapor could be seen rising from the blue-black depths around them. It was almost surreal sometimes how it managed to twist the imaginations of the men around him into seeing sea monsters and spirits of the deep, and the boy had laughed when the men had told him of the sweet siren calls of the water nymphs that lived at the bottom of the sea.

But today he had not laughed. The mist was growing thick on the horizon and it often made sailing treacherous in shallow waters. If he was not careful and mindful as he swung the lead, despite the simplicity of its use, he could allow the ship to be careened on a reef or on an underwater rock shelf. He would not want to face the captain's wrath after what he had witnessed when such a mistake had been made by his predecessor; he'd had to clean up the blood himself. But so far he'd been diligent and competent, and the captain had at least seen some worth in him.

After taking a few measurements, he determined that the ship was not in any danger of being careened yet, but he would not allow himself to risk a flogging with the cat o' nine tails by the provost should he seem inattentive or unenthusiastic in his work. He was about to swing the lead over the gunwalls once more when the deck suddenly bucked beneath him. A white wall of chilly water and flecks of wood from the hull pelted him, driving him to his knees on the deck.

Upon regaining his senses, his first thought was that he'd made a horrible miscalculation and that the ship's damage would be blamed on him. His knees went weak and his hands trembled with panic as he stared blankly at the line that was still firmly in his grasp, oblivious to the men shouting around him. He lost his grip when the deck roiled under him again. More splinters of wood and stinging, frigid water sprayed him, and he scrambled back away from the warping gunwalls.

His hand bumped into something behind him as his panic drove him back toward the center of the ship; it was slimy and covered with wood chips and fragments of the hull, and it squelched when his hand sank into it. He turned his head to see what it was. If there had ever been any one thing he had ever regretted over the course of his life, it had been turning his head at that very moment. He snatched his hand away quickly, trying to fling the blood and gooey shreds of human entrails that coated his hand back toward the crashing waves of sea water.

Deaggert the boatswain was dead, and his shattered remains began to slide starboard. The boy heaved himself back to the gunwalls and retched. The ship listed over to its side, men shouted and screamed and dove into the water after an overloaded wherry that was drifting away, its occupants dead. Hail shot after hail shot had killed most of the crew and shredded the sails. Transoms split and the quarterdeck broke into pieces, engulfed by fire.

Without another moment to ponder his fate, the boy was flung over the side and into the water. Wooden fragments and shrapnel rained down on him from the mast, and he managed to bring his head above the water just in time to see a large chunk of the main mast falling… falling down… about to crash into the water at the very spot where he was struggling to stay afloat.

Taking a quick gasp of air, he ducked his head under and pushed at the water, trying to place as much of it between him and the falling debris of the mast as possible. He heard the resounding crack and splash as it impacted the water, and then felt a heavy weight hit his head. Too dazed to move any more, his lungs leaked precious air in a slow, steady stream of bubbles that floated lazily to the surface of the water above him. He began to sink.

Cold blackness encroached on his vision and numbed his fingers and toes, but did not claim him in death quite yet. The passage of time began to lose all meaning as a white aura of a ghostly presence suddenly surrounded him, comforted him, before he suddenly felt himself being drawn away from it into the inky black depths of the sea. He clawed for the shroud of whiteness, but his last burst of strength was soon spent. He continued to sink.

Ghostly figures and images haunted him, but strangely, he was not frightened by them. When his eyes began to drift closed, he was comforted that the last vision that he'd see was the sight of an ocean nymph of the sailors' tales reaching out for him, grasping for him, and then whispering sweetly into his ear.

_Te'Lan…_ It was whispering his name softly. The ghostly voice echoed loudly through the depths and through his head. _You will find us again one day, Te'Lan. Search for us, free us, and we will give you our secrets… and our treasure._

His breath left him, and blackness surrounded him for a long time. And then, some indefinite length of time later, a light suddenly shone in the distance. Rough, warm hands were pulling him up and out of the water, and then set him down to shiver on the deck of the tiny galley. A few men dressed in simple, but practical attire clapped him on the back, smiling broadly.

"There ye go, lad!" one of them chuckled heartily, then sat across from him and took up an oar into his broad hands. "Pity we couldn't free ye from yer servitude ta those bastards earlier!"

He looked up into each of their faces, terror etched on his face. He'd allowed himself to be captured by brigands that served the enemy! If he ever got back, he knew that his captain would never let him live it down. He'd be flogged to death for sure!

Upon seeing his expression of sheer terror, they laughed as they worked their oars. A sea chantey bellowed from their lungs, and the boy found it strange that they should sing such a comfortably familiar tune. Standing up on shaky legs, he was half tempted to dive over the sides of the galley, but as he looked out across the misty horizon, almost nothing was left of his old ship. Only a few splintered fragments of wood and the countless drowned and mutilated bodies of the crew still floated in the water.

It was a horrific tragedy to become cannon fodder to pirates, considered a dishonorable death at sea, and a death unworthy of being remembered and honored for. Good, competent soldiers in the King's navy didn't fall victim to pirates. It had been decreed that to die at their hands was an insult to your country and commanding officer, and being captured alive was even worse. He sighed hopelessly, looking out over the water for something, anything that could bring him hope. But there was nothing left.

Then the mists over the water whispered to him, as if in a dream-like sleep, and he jumped back in surprise. _Save us… Help us, Te'Lan… Free us!_

Looking around nervously to see if any of the brigands had heard it too, the boy trembled with fright. But none of the other men around him displayed any signs of having any interest in him or the charred remnants of the ship that was left floating in the water as they rowed. His life as he had known it was gone, but his primary concern of the moment should be the fact that he would soon be subject to the pathetically short life of a prisoner of war at a forced labor camp, or perhaps even an execution at an enemy stockade.

The night was soon upon the small galley as it docked aside a larger brig, and the boy had fully expected to be shackled and chained and thrown into the bilge space of the ship as a prisoner. But the pirate captain had instead looked at him strangely for a moment, and then ordered his men to make him a bunk in the crew cabin. It would probably be at least a couple of months before they'd stop at a large enough port long to offload any prisoners, he'd said, but there would be use for an extra deck hand since the attack on the ship. Several of his men had been killed in a failed counterattack, but the captain had been gracious enough not to mention it, nor did he directly ask the boy for his services.

So there on that pirate's ship he'd stayed for many long months at sea while the pirates looted and plundered the King's navy, and all the while, there was nothing he could do to stop them. More months passed, and his anger and frustration had gnawed at him enough that he occasionally sparred with the other sailors, soaking up anything about fencing and fighting that he could learn, and he had even begun to help out with the rigging and lookout duties.

He didn't even realize how much he'd grown to love the thrill of plundering ships and sharing the spoils of war with those men he'd now come to think of as brethren. As they grew rich with loot, new faces took their places, and he'd even been allowed to keep at bit for himself. He'd stayed on as a deck hand of his own accord then.

Years passed, flying by with the speed and lividness of the excitement his new life brought him, and as he gained notoriety and fame of his own, he'd been given a new name by his comrades. His emerald-green colored eyes were fancied by the sea girls at the ports, and so they called him 'The Emerald Wanderer'.

The sea mists still spoke to him on occasion, and he never told anyone about them. Over the years, he had learned to quietly tune it out and focus himself on the task at hand. But one day, despite having the repute of a strong and brave sailor lad, the mists would not go ignored and unheard. They haunted his dreams, drove many faces of the dead into his mind, and brought up memories of his past that he'd long left for dead at the bottom of those chilly waters.

They haunted him day and night, and had even gone so far as to force him away from the dearly beloved sea for a some time. But still they haunted him, slowly driving him mad with visions of ghosts, death, and wanton destruction until he had finally capitulated to them and used his small acquired fortune of loot to buy a ship and solicit a crew of his own.

It was from that day on that the King's sailors were fearful to sail into unknown waters alone or venture too close to enemy ports without much protection. Te'Lan, The Emerald Wanderer, the unrelenting and fearless, had set loose upon the seas and showed no mercy to his enemies. He bowed to no one, but was gracious and generous to those who showed him loyalty and respect. He was a man who got what he wanted, and was driven by his dreams and nightmares unto the edges of the world.

And he knew not what it was that he sought, and had not even a clue to it, until a strange group of off-worlders would chance upon involving themselves in the affairs of his world. They could not have known the trouble they would be in for when they stepped through the portal of the Ancient Ancestors and found themselves, unbeknownst to them, in the same port as he.


	2. Passing into the Mist

A/N: Okay, folks! Here's the chapter where our team makes their first appearance. :) Sorry if the previous chapter seemed a little rushed, but it was my intention to present just a few of the more important snippets of his life in order to give you guys a proper chance to see what kind of a person he is before I start writing about him. This chapter is a little sad, but don't worry. It gets lighter. I hope you are all enjoying this so far!

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_Tick… tick… tick… tick…_

Dr. Carson Beckett leaned heavily against the doorway of the small bedroom and sighed heavily, his gaze rising slowly from his hands to a small and austere window set high into the opposite wall. He removed a pair of protective gloves, stepped forward, and looked out. Suddenly craving distraction, he felt the return of some semblance of order to his mind at seeing people moving back and forth on the streets below attending to their own business with nary a care for what went on in the houses they passed. He listened to the clock ticking behind him near the banister, trying to will his mind into a state of serene calm and tranquil impassiveness.

It didn't work. Sometimes it was just too hard. No matter how hard he tried, he could not shake the image of the young man from his mind. Carson knew the young man in the room he had just left, and knew that he was crying. At least, that's what he thought was happening. If it had been his own mother sick and dying, he knew that he himself would be crying. That was why he'd left the young man alone with her for a while.

He sympathized deeply, but always managed to feel like a failure when trying to shake that feeling of helplessness and despair that came when good, kind people were dying under his care. It was part of what made him the person he was, and as objective and unattached as doctors are supposed to remain with their patients, he'd never had the ability to remain completely unaffected by things like this. He liked to think that it made him a better doctor, but sometimes it was too hard. After three days of constant care and attentiveness, even the best of doctors would be hard-pressed not to be fatigued and weary.

And his fatigue was great today, so great that he did not notice the soft footsteps padding across the carpeted floor behind him, nor did he expect to feel a hand fall onto his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. Carson jerked around, his heart racing in a nervous frenzy. He willed himself to attempt to physically relax even if he was still mentally incapable of it.

"Colonel," he greeted his team's leader hesitantly with a deep Scottish brogue that had thickened with his fatigue. "I dinna expect ye back until tomorrow."

"I was in the neighborhood, so I just thought I'd just check in and see how you were doing." Colonel John Sheppard asked worriedly, getting right to the point. "How's Mrs. Mulley doing?"

Carson frowned, and then let out an audible sigh before giving his report. "Not well, I'm afraid. It looks like she's contracted some local variant of Yellow Fever. She's displayin' signs o' jaundice an' has taken a turn for the worse."

John frowned now too, his gaze shifting downward. "Henry must be taking it pretty hard."

'Henry' was the nickname that they'd given to Henril Mulley, the small and stout young man in his late teens who'd greeted them excitedly when they had first come to his world through the Stargate and landed their Puddle-Jumper. He'd been kind and understanding and had been more than happy to introduce them to all the local offices in authority on the island port. His mother had even invited them for dinner, and so he had felt obligated to come back to this world himself with the doctor sooner than he'd originally been scheduled. Another expedition team's report had informed him that Mrs. Mulley had become ill, and he'd felt that he owed the young man something for all the trouble he and his mother had gone through to help them.

"Aye," Carson confirmed softly, his gaze returning to the window. "He is."

"Maybe I should talk to him," John said uncomfortably, lips pursed and feet shifting slightly underneath him.

"No," Carson urged quietly, shaking his head. "I think he just needs some time."

Carson padded away softly down the steps and took it upon himself to go into the kitchen, fill a kettle with water, and place it on the fire to boil. He wasn't sure that the tea he'd brought with him would make anyone else feel better, but it did make the quiet peace of the house seem more homely for him, at least. John had silently followed, but did not immediately speak again.

"Tea?" Carson asked, holding up a cup in John's direction.

John shook his head and watched Carson return to the kettle for a moment, then sat down in a cushy chair and picked up a book from a shelf, paging through it absently and studying its hand-drawn illustrations.

Carson's voice wafted through from the kitchen. "So where are Rodney, Ronon, and Teyla? Are they still out and about in the market?"

"Yeah," John replied loudly so that Carson could hear him, still leafing through the book. "I wasn't feeling too well, but Teyla knows what we need. I decided to let her do this week's shopping."

"Not feelin' well?" Carson asked, taking a peek past the kitchen's dividing wall back at John. "Shall I take a look?"

"No, no, I'm fine," John insisted slyly with a faint hint of a smile. "You go ahead and have your tea. It was probably just last night's dinner disagreeing with me."

"But I cooked dinner last night," Carson said with mock dismay, giving John a stern look. And when John looked up at him innocently, saying nothing more, he begrudgingly returned to the kitchen, muttering under his breath. "Cheeky an' bloody ungrateful, I tell ye."

John grinned with amusement and returned to his book. The pictures had been awesome and grotesque at the same time, depicting scenes with ships, heroic-looking sailors, sea-monsters, and even sea-maidens. It didn't seem like the kind of pictures you'd see in a religious book, but there had been what looked like a few old maps within it. The book itself was old and worn, but the images were still vibrant and clear. John found himself wishing that he could read the fading alien print.

The water for his tea now ready, Carson finally emerged from the kitchen holding a steaming mug and sat in a chair across from John. He'd barely had a moment to sip it once before what sounded like a strange, faint buzzing sound seemed to emanate outside the relatively thin walls of the house in which they were settled. Both Carson and John looked around curiously, but saw nothing different.

"What is that?" Carson asked to no one in particular, and then turned his head toward the door when the latch on it jiggled.

"—but no, you only checked the prices with two other vendors. How could you possibly know that you got the best deal possible for all that grain? Look, all I'm saying is that—"

The door opened with a soft creak and Teyla Emmagan was the first to step through, carefully wiping her shoes on a mat outside the door before entering. "Rodney, if I had checked with all of the vendors in the market, we would have been there for a _very_ long time. I felt that the price we are trading for it is fair."

Dr. Rodney McKay followed just after, not bothering to wipe his muddy, grungy feet before stepping through and soiling the carpet and wood-finished floor panels near the door. "Well, we'll never know now, will we?"

With a bemused but contented sigh, Ronon Dex was the last to silently pass through the entrance into the small house, and he too had been polite enough to wipe his boots on the mat. Carson scowled at Rodney, pushing himself up angrily out of his chair and nearly spilling his tea.

"Rodney, look what you're doin', ye bloody inconsiderate an'— I just helped Henry clean up this mornin'!"

"What?" Rodney whined, and when Carson pointed at his shoes, he looked down at them. "Oh."

Carson pursed his lips in annoyance and sat back down, taking another sip of his tea. His mother-hen instinct had been ingrained in him since he was a child, when his own mother would fret and worry about each scratch and bruise he'd receive at school from the bullies that would pick on him and his friends. '_I'm sure ye were in the right tae stand up for yer friend, Carson,_' she'd tell him quietly. '_If only ye didn't get so banged up afterward!_'

He could still hear his mum's voice or see her image in his head now and then, whispering comforts and shaking her head in bemused exasperation, but still smiling sweetly. He knew that he'd picked up some of her mannerisms over the years, too, and smiled himself at the thought that he had become just like his mother. An image of Mrs. Mulley then appeared in his mind, smiling with the same sweet and motherly expressiveness, and his smile faded. It was a smile that poor Henry would probably never see again.

Making a mental note to try to plan a trip home to Scotland sometime in the near future, Carson looked up from his tea cup and sighed. A set of slow, sullen footsteps were padding down the stairs, and everybody in the room turned their head to see. It was Henry, his shoulders slumped, and his face implacably blank. He stopped at the bottom of the steps and leaned woozily against the wall, and Carson rose quickly and moved to the young man's side, fearful that he might collapse in a dead faint from exhaustion.

"She's…" Henry tried to whisper hoarsely, but didn't have to say it. They knew it without him having to say anything.

Carson could see the endless depths of sadness in his eyes and sympathized. Losing a patient was never easy for him, but this young man's mother had shown them such kindness that he'd likened her to his own mother. Placing a comforting hand on Henry's shoulder, Carson helped him over to the couch to sit down. It wasn't long before Henry slipped into a troubled and restless nap of sheer exhaustion.

Colonel Sheppard and his team had stayed with him and waited patiently in respectful silence while the caretakers of the dead did their business for Henry. But by the time all was said and done, the sun had started to sink low in the sky, and it was all Carson could do not to begin pacing the room like a caged animal. His emotions were building up and needed an outlet.

"I'm very grateful for all the trouble you've gone through, Dr. Beckett," Henry said quietly after a while. "Thank you for trying to help."

"You're welcome," Carson replied softly, speaking with a faint hint of bitterness in his voice that he'd meant to hide. "I just wish I'd been able to do more."

A few minutes of uncomfortable silence passed, and then someone's stomach growled. Rodney looked down at his toes sheepishly.

"It's getting late," Henry said with a faint smile after glancing out at the window. "You all must be getting hungry by now. Please, allow me to treat you to a fine meal at the tavern tonight. They make a hearty and tasty stew this night of the week, and it's quite good. It's the least I can do to repay you for the kindness you've shown me."

Letting out a sigh of relief, Carson's interest was piqued by the idea. He clapped Henry on the back. "That's kind of ye, lad. I think I could use a stiff drink about now."

Henry retrieved his jacket from a small corner closet, offering his friends another weary smile. "You'll have to be careful what you order, Doctor. The sailor's grog and most varieties of ale are wonderful around here, but be warned that some of the finer spirits might be served watered down to strangers who don't immediately offer a generous tip."

A rush of cool autumn and salty-sweet sea air greeted them upon opening the door, and a stiff breeze drove through the tall grasses that grew in clumps at the street corners. Oil lamps were being lit, candles and lamps could be seen alighting in a few shop windows, and a fog bank was rolling in from over the water to the east, but it was broken by a bright and shining light from a lighthouse in the distance. It was eerily reminiscent of a simple 17th century seaport filled with all sorts of people. Sailors and fishermen were most common, of course, but there were countless shop-owners, dock workers, and even a few well-dressed groups of wandering nobles, who would frequent the finer establishments and shops in their long-clothes, which were ill-suited for sailing.

They strode along the cobblestone streets until Henry brought them to the door of what initially appeared to be an inn. The door opened and the hearty smells of smoking meats, hearty stews, and a warm, homely fire in the center permeated the room about them, making their mouths water with the anticipation of a fine meal. Soft, dainty music wafted from an unseen corner where a small group of pipers played.

After choosing a table in a corner not too far from the bar, Henry went to fetch the first round of ale, and Colonel Sheppard and his team eagerly seated themselves. When Henry returned with two large pitchers of ale, Ronon smiled heartily and was the first to reach for one as the barkeep passed out simple pewter cups. Generously portioned bowls of stew soon followed, and Rodney eyed his eagerly, but was somewhat confused when the barkeep hadn't brought any spoons. Upon seeing Henry lift the bowl to his mouth, Rodney decided not to ask; he was starving.

The mood was light-hearted but solemn, and they did not speak very frequently, always in hushed voices compared to the raucous cacophony of chuckling, arguing, and jeering going on around them from the other patrons of the tavern. After two more pitchers had been brought to the table, it had become obvious that Henry and Ronon were becoming quickly and thoroughly sloshed. Carson admitted with some dismay that the ale was the best he'd had in a long time, and Henry had even tried to teach his new friends an old sea chantey that he'd recently learned on the docks where he worked.

The fine atmosphere, fine food, and fine drinks of the evening worked their magic on the tired and downtrodden souls seated at the table. But little did they notice the hushed voices and sly glances of the swarthy men who sat a few tables away, and as the evening unfolded into night, they would have had no idea how much trouble they were about the be thrust into.


	3. A Rowdier Crowd

A/N: Hey folks! Hope your vacations are going to be as long as mine. I do intend to keep writing, so don't fret! But for now... "Yaaaargh! Throw 'em in chains, mateys!"

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John had stopped drinking after his third cup of ale which, surprisingly, already seemed to be making him feel quite tipsy. It was strong and had very little aftertaste, which were definitely desirable qualities to his palate. But being out on a mission on an alien world, he didn't really feel comfortable and safe in allowing himself to become outright plastered, and apparently neither did Teyla. She drank very little of the ale and had preferred water for most of the evening. 

And although Rodney hadn't had too much to drink either, he surely seemed to be enjoying the ale's effects as much as Ronon, Carson, and Henry were enjoying them. The evening was slowly beginning to wind down as those who had sought an evening meal began to leave and the regulars of the tavern began to fill the tables and bar, seeking to quench powerful thirsts. A few clumps of sailors and drunken merchants had surrounded the bar and were rowdier and noisier than the previous tenants who'd occupied their seats, and John was becoming more eager to call it a night and get some rest before preparing to head back to Atlantis in the morning. They still had to check in with Dr. Weir before allowing themselves to go to sleep anyway.

"It's been a pretty rough day for all of us," John said restlessly, but politely. "I think we should start heading back soon."

A few of the people around the table nodded solemnly, but there were no complaints. They were all tired and ready for a good night's sleep. Pushing their chairs back with a few loud creaks of protest from the grungy floor, they slowly and contentedly began to rise from their seats. Unfortunately for Ronon though, one of the swarthy men from the corner table had picked that very moment to walk behind his chair with drinks in hand. The chair knocked them from the man's hands to the floor, and what smelled of a good vintage brew spilt and ran in puddles of ruin.

The man stared down at the empty cups with surprise and annoyance, and then looked up squarely at Ronon with a piercing gaze. His voice was strangely accented and sounded harsh to their ears. "Just what do ya think yer doin'?"

Looking down at the spilt drinks, then back at the man, Ronon shifted his feet bashfully and seemed uncharacteristically unsteady on his feet. "Oh… Sorry about that."

The stranger's face hardened into a fierce scowl. "Yer sorry? Well, ya better be sorry 'nuff ta buy us a new round o' drinks."

The entire tavern had suddenly gone silent. Ronon simply stared at him dumbly and looked around curiously at the pervasive silence, but Henry at least still had the presence of mind to step in between them.

"I'm sure t'was just an accident, friend," Henry said confidently, and began to rummage through his pockets for some spare cash to pay for the accident. "Here, I'll take care of it."

But the man was not satisfied with this answer, and pushed Henry away by the shoulder with a firm hand before turning back to Ronon. "Oh, no, ya don't. Yer not gettin' away wi' this that easy. I think _you_ should pay."

Ronon smiled smugly, his gaze unwavering, and chuckled under his breath. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I don't have any money."

All eyes in the tavern were on them, including both the barkeep's and John's nervous gazes. Hoping to diffuse the situation with a show of support, John stepped up to Ronon's side, and the others soon followed. John smiled politely and spoke slowly. "We don't want any trouble."

The man obviously wasn't impressed with the show, his face still implacable and stern, and he began to remove his long coat, which was dark-colored, sturdy, and warm, almost similar to a navy man's pea coat. A few of his buddies from their table stood and slowly came to a halt at his side, and John was suddenly nervous. These guys were serious.

"Absolutely no fightin' in here, lads!" the barkeep shouted angrily from behind the bar with a thick, foreign brogue in his voice. "Ya want ta fight, take it outside!"

"With pleasure," Ronon said, his grin broadening and a mischievous gleam shining in his eyes. "Shall we?"

"Ronon…" John whispered carefully, cautiously.

A tavern wasn't always a smart place to get into a fight. But Ronon held out an unsteady hand to hold him back. He was confident, at least, John thought; too confident.

"Relax," Ronon said simply. "I can handle this."

John rubbed at his forehead; a tension headache was starting to plague him. A smug smirk twisted itself into the offending man's features, and he smiled malevolently. With a motion of his hand, both he and Ronon were then seen shuffling out the door, neither one taking their eyes off of the other. With a concerned expression, John looked at Teyla, whose expression essentially mirrored his own, and they both hesitantly followed Ronon and the scowling man's friends out into the chilly night.

Carson and Rodney glanced over at each other, then at John's back as he left. Carson took the opportunity to speak up first. "Wha…? Are they completely daft?"

"You're telling me," Rodney moaned. He was tempted to follow John and Teyla outside just to see what was happening, but ultimately decided that he was better off staying right where he was. "Ronon's had a bit too much to drink, I think. I wonder if he'll decide to leave any of them without a broken nose."

With a worried scoff of agreement, Carson reluctantly took up the seat next to Rodney that Henril had recently vacated, who had preferred instead to settle himself onto a barstool to have another drink, intent on waiting out the trouble. Carson was just as curious as Rodney, but the doctor in him wouldn't allow any sign of approval be shown in regard to what the rest of his team were doing outside, and thus decided not to give them the satisfaction of an audience. So the two men simply sat back and watched helplessly as John stepped up into the middle of the crowd outside first.

"Listen," John pleaded with a small measure of desperation in his voice, holding out his hands in a display of peaceful intentions. "Let's not do something that we'll all reg—"

Before he was even given a chance to finish his words, a left hook from one of the swarthy man's friends connected with his jaw. All hell broke loose as the bodies of the swarthy sea men flung themselves against John, Ronon, and one even for Teyla. With hardly even a thought for a graceful or fair fight, the bodies and limbs became entangled together in an all-out wrestling match. Teyla was the first to find enough leeway to land a jab to the face of her attacker, and she forced him away angrily. John and Ronon had been at a distinct disadvantage, but their military training and prowess quickly assisted them in turning their attackers' anger against them.

But the offending men had no compunctions against fighting dirty, and one lashed out with a foot toward John's groin. John wasn't fast enough to effectively block it, though, and collapsed in a heap behind Ronon. The big Satedan nearly tripped on John's arm, but still somehow managed to hold his own as the two that had been attacking John refocused their attention on him. He was grinning like a mad man and having the time of his life.

Carson sighed as he and Rodney craned their necks to peer through the door, which had been carelessly left open, from the relative safety of their seats. They watched Ronon begin to effortlessly and single-handedly humiliate every single one of his attackers. Something brushed by suddenly against Carson's left arm, and he turned to see someone wearing a long, weighty, and worn coat settling himself down into the chair next to him. The man's beard was thick, dark brown, and flecked with a few strands of gray, but he didn't look very old, perhaps in his mid- to late-forties. Carson could not help but notice that the most striking feature of the man was his eyes, which were a blazing emerald green and squinted with contentment, likely a result of copious alcohol consumption.

"I should'na hired those fools," the visitor said wistfully with a soft chuckle, leaning forward slightly and placing a tankard of fine spirits on the table. "They can't seem ta fight worth a damn, it seems."

"Oh, no," Carson responded uncomfortably, but politely, trying not to make eye-contact. "I'm sure they're fine fighters, but Ronon is quite the warrior. I nary know a man that could even present him a challenge in a fair fight."

"Is that so?" he said, laughing heartily at the comment. "I hope ya won't mind then if I ask what ya do, then, if ya ain't a warrior."

Carson glanced at him suspiciously, but did not think not to answer, much to Rodney's uncomfortable amazement. "I'm a doctor. I heal the sick and injured."

"Are ya now," he said softly, displaying a mouthful of slightly crooked, yellow teeth; but at least he didn't seem to be missing any, which was more than Carson could say for the vast majority of the other patrons of the tavern. "That's a skillset ya got there, then. I'm sure it'll be comin' in handy where you're goin'."

"Excuse me?" Rodney asked incredulously. His heart pounded nervously in his chest; he did not like where this conversation was headed, but was thoroughly confused when the man would say no more.

With a laugh and shake of his head, the stranger rose from his seat and strode over to the table in the corner. Carson and Rodney watched him whisper something unintelligible to the remaining two men who sat there, and then watched him leave the tavern through the back. They had not heard the order that he'd issued, and were still in the process of exchanging curious glances when they happened to see five more men joining the two at the corner table, and they were then altogether quickly advancing toward their table. A few seconds later, Carson and Rodney were completely surrounded by them.

Rising uneasily from their chairs, the men surrounding them towered over Rodney and Carson. Rodney gulped uncomfortably, and one of them shot him a disgusting, nearly toothless grin. Before either he or Carson knew what was going on, the men had them both pinned against a wall and were holding them in ruthless elbow locks. Burlap sacks were placed over their heads and their wrists were bound behind them tightly and securely. No other patrons in the tavern had dared even consider making a move to help, not even Henry, who had retreated to the exit to break up the fight as it began to wind down. He knew what was going on, and knew that he had to act quickly.

Carson and Rodney were forced to march outside blindly and awkwardly for a while, their protests continually being ignored, and were then dragged into an enclosed space of some kind when they found themselves unable to continue without guidance. They were literally tossed into what felt and sounded like a crawlspace, which was hardly large enough to stand in, and were then chained and shackled at both their wrists and ankles before finally being left alone. The latch of a door being locked echoed eerily through the tiny space, and then the only sound that remained was the slight slosh of water in the distance. It sounded small and far away.

Slowly and carefully, Carson reached up and hesitantly lifted the sack from his head. "Rodney…? Are ye still here wi' me?"

It was dark in the enclosed space, pitch black even compared to the night just outside, which was lit by the dim light from the oil lamps strategically placed on various street corners. They appeared to have been thrown into a small bilge space inside a ship and had obviously been locked inside. The ceiling was low, and the crew's bunks and Captain's quarters were probably just above their heads. Ropes and cables to secure cargo were laid out everywhere, and the chains that secured the two men were looped through steel notches that protruded from the walls of the inner hull. The steady sounds of their labored breathing and the sound of the water was all he had to comfort him as his gaze finally found Rodney.

Sure enough, he was lying prostrate on the floor directly across from him, but seemed to be only semi-conscious at best. Blood had oozed and caked in his hair and scalp, and had dripped down his forehead from a wound hidden underneath a loch of his thinning hair. Carson had wondered why Rodney had gone so quiet all of the sudden while they had been in the process of being chained. He tried to move to his friend's side, but the chains were not long enough to permit him.

He sat back on his haunches and leaned against the hull, unsure of what to do. There was nothing to be done except wait until their captors made the reason behind their kidnapping clear. Carson sighed heavily, pulling his knees close to his chest against the cold drafts of air that seeped in under the door, resting his head against his arms.


	4. Waylaid By A Pressgang

A/N: Sorry about the long wait on this chapter, but I'm still struggling with writer's block. Sorry about the cliffie, but many of you know me well enough to know that it's worth it. ;)

* * *

John rolled onto his side, sliding himself away from Ronon's shuffling feet as he fought. He'd only been vaguely aware of feeling someone's hand on his shoulder, and he groaned lowly with the intense pain that still radiated from the point of impact. The hand on his shoulder became more insistent, and he shied away from it, clutching his hands over his groin protectively, lest another swift kick be let loose upon him. Slowly, as the seconds ticked past, he finally managed to open his eyes and look up, squinting against the pain as it was released slowly in waves. 

"Colonel Sheppard, you must help them!" he heard finally over the ringing in his ears.

It was Henry and he was trying to yank on John's arm in an effort to help him up to his feet. John blinked in confusion, struggling to comprehend and recall exactly what had just happened over the course of the past few minutes. He tested his voice, which sounded scratchy and hoarse even to his own ears. "Henry…? What's going on?"

Henry was trembling with panic as he reached down with both arms this time and tried again to haul John up to his feet. "You must come quickly! Your friends are in danger!"

"What danger?" he asked as he wearily stuck out his fists to push himself up into a sitting position, then shook his head and tried to clear the washed-out haze of fuzzy cotton that seemed to linger in his peripheral vision.

"It's Dr. McKay and Dr. Beckett!" Henry wailed fearfully, wrapping a supportive arm around John's shoulders as he got to unsteady feet. "They're bein' waylaid!"

Teyla, who had finally managed to deter any further attacks, was suddenly at John's other side, assisting Henry in hauling John upright. "What do you mean? What is happening?"

"They're bein' waylaid by what I suspect is a pressgang!" Henry insisted poignantly, as if his friends should know what he was talking about, and was also trying to coax John into moving faster. "We must hurry!"

With Teyla's help, just as Ronon finished off the last of the two most stubborn attackers with a jab to the face, Henry managed to help John stagger into the tavern. But the two men they'd left at their table were nowhere in sight. They looked around in astonished surprise, but saw no sign of them.

"Where are Rodney and Carson?" John wheezed bewilderedly, still somewhat hunched over, but was at least managing to be able to support himself on his own two feet again.

Henry rushed forward towards the rear of the tavern, and John and Teyla did their best to keep up. Pushing through the rear exit, Henry emerged onto a dim and barren street corner with his three remaining Lantean friends close on his heel. Turning in circles and peering down the alleyways and gulping back his fear in a panic-struck haze, the young man caught sight of a drunkard that was sitting against the tavern's thin board exterior.

With a snarl, Henry hauled the barely-conscious sot up to his feet by the lapels of his inadequate jacket. "Where did they go? Which way were they taken?"

"Henry, what the hell is going on? What just happened in there?" John implored desperately, only managing to have just figured that McKay and Beckett had been kidnapped and had been dragged away through the rear exit of the tavern.

But Henry ignored him for the time being, intent on gleaning as much information from the destitute bum as he could. He shook the man furiously and the bum stirred.

"Whaddaya want?" the bum slurred drunkenly, prying his eyes open wide enough to see who had intruded on his sleep, then laughed heartily at the young man's frown. "Ha! You again! I dun see why ye always have ta pick on me, lad! I'm jus' here takin' a li'l rest before I get me wits about me enough ta git home ta me wife, ya know?"

"Which way? Which pier?" Henry growled lowly.

The aging and graying bum offered a crooked half-smile, showing brown and toothless gums, and then frowned. "An' why should I be tellin' ya that? Aye, I saw 'em come by. But if I tell ye which way they went, I could be next on their list to waylay!"

"You're far too putrid-smellin' for that," Henry shot back, wrinkling his nose in disgust and holding the man out at arm's length.

John, Teyla, and Ronon could do no more than watch in amazed bewilderment as Henry drew back his fist, as if to strike the aging bum.

"Wait, wait!" the bum begged, cringing back as far as he could from Henry's fist. "Alright, alright, I'll tell ya. But ye best not be mentionin' me, if ye get caught! Te'Lan would nay ever let me live it down an' would kill me without a second thought!"

Henry's eyes went wide with disbelief, his face contorting into an expression of sheer horror, and he promptly dropped the bum to land bottom first on the street. With a nervous gulp, he began to tremble and stutter once more. "He…? Was it him? Was it really Te'Lan?"

"Aye, t'was his gang," the bum said softly and indignantly, huddling up back against the board planks that made up the wall, and then made a motion with his finger toward an avenue that led east back toward the water. "They went that a'way. I doubt you'll catch 'em before they reach their ship, though. Even if ya did manage to find 'em, you'd never make it out of there alive, much less rescue yer two friends."

With fists still balled up in anger and frustration, Henry's gaze turned downward with despair. "Then… Then you did see them."

"Aye, I did," the bum scoffed smugly. "An' that's more than any one o' them deadbeats in the tavern will admit ta seein', all of 'em quakin' in their boots at the mere mentionin' of his name."

John strode purposefully up to Henry, pressing a hand firmly against his arm to drive him from his sudden and quiet reverie. "Henry, what the _hell_ just happened? Where are Carson and Rodney?"

Looking back at the bum thoughtfully, who had by this point slipped back into his drunken stupor and fallen asleep, Henry's voice was low and etched with despair. "I'm sorry, Colonel Sheppard, but he's right. Even if we could find their ship, there's no way that we could just stroll up to Te'Lan, the Emerald Wanderer himself, and simply demand your friends back. We'd be slaughtered in an instant, or worse, waylaid by his pressgangs ourselves!"

"What are you talking about? Who is this Te'Lan guy, and what is a pressgang?" John demanded, holding out his arms with confusion, and his temper flared in response to Henry's despair. Did he really intend to just give up without a fight? There was no way that John would do that.

"This is a neutral port in the war, and not only is it dangerous work, but common folk don't oft associate with pirates," Henry began tentatively, holding absolutely still, his gaze unwavering. "At this time of year especially, it's difficult to find deck hands willin' to fight as a privateer under a letter of Marque. 'Tis disreputable work, considered only a small measure better than piracy, and unfortunate men who foolishly find themselves alone in the wrong area at the wrong time are sometimes pressed into service against their will. Captain Te'Lan has been known to ransack ships even while in port and is a man wanted under charges of piracy by the crown of Gulran, but no one has ever dared to betray him, even for the sum of more than a thousand gold pieces."

"They've been _shanghaied_ by pirates?" John gasped incredulously, and the Earth-term earned a strange look from the others around him. He shifted uncomfortably under their questioning gazes, and tried to ignore them as he concentrated on gleaning answers from Henry. "There must be some kind of local authority that can help us."

Henry sighed heavily, shoulders slumped and arms outstretched in resignation. "The Gulran port-master's office won't be open 'til morning, and I'm sure Te'Lan's ship will be gone by then. Even if we don't get laughed out of his office, most of the local deputies tend to look the other way, either through bribery or through threats. If we're goin' to get your friends back, we're likely to be on our own."

There was no choice, then. As much as John would have liked to charge off down to the docks and search every ship present, he knew that it would be foolish. In the dark, on a foreign world, and with no idea how many gang-members they'd have to fight through just to figure out which ship belonged to this Te'Lan, there wasn't much hope that the four of them would make it very far by themselves.

"Let's get back to the Jumper," he ordered lowly and fiercely. "Dr. Weir needs to know what's going on, and maybe we can call in some reinforcements to help us search."

Ronon scowled with annoyance, but even still in a half-drunken state was not foolish enough to underestimate the danger. Without another word, they turned and purposefully walked along the more brightly lit streets in the direction of the Jumper.

* * *

Carson woke to the sound of chains clinking, the sound of water sloshing against the hull on which his head rested, and the unfortunate sound of a man retching on the other side of the small, cramped space. A low moan echoed off the walls, nearly drowned out by the creaking of wood and the incessant splashing of water. They were definitely on a ship, and if the slight listing motion back and forth was any indication, it had shoved off from the docks some time ago. 

Prying open his eyes, he blinked as his vision struggled to adjust to the dimness, which was eerily illuminated by a few streaks of sunlight that shone brightly between cracks in the poorly-constructed planks of the door and doorjamb. Another moan and more retching sounds filled the space once more, and Carson could not help but pity poor Rodney. He judged the time of day to be about mid-morning by the length of the rays of light that were shining in, and if he listened very carefully, Carson thought he could hear voices far away.

"Rodney?" Carson called out hesitantly in the darkness. "Are ye alright?"

He could almost hear the man swallowing hard against the bile, and the voice that replied was harsh, hoarse, and obviously pained. "Does it sound like I'm alright?"

"No, not really," Carson offered sympathetically. "Got a wee case o' sea sickness a'ready, do ye?"

"Don't ask stupid questions," Rodney bellowed irritably, the chains of his shackles clinking again as he shifted. "Like that fact shouldn't have been obvious by now."

Rather than exacerbate Rodney's already foul mood, Carson shut his mouth and frowned at the darkness. Several hours passed slowly with no sign of any guards or demands from their captors, and as his mouth began to feel parched with thirst, Carson could only imagine how quickly the dehydration would begin to affect Rodney. Once the contents of his stomach had been emptied during the first hour, his nausea had turned to dry heaves. The smell of what was left of Rodney's dinner rotting on the floor was nearly enough to cause Carson himself some nausea, but he managed to turn his head away and hold it at bay.

It was late in the afternoon, he figured, by the time the latch on the door finally clicked. The small space was filled with light, and Carson's eyes squinted with the sudden intrusion. Hands silently grabbed his wrists and ankles, and the fleeting hope of being released from his shackles was quickly dashed when it became apparent that only the chain that attached him to the hull was being unfastened. On the other side of the room, he could hear Rodney's chains also being manipulated, and the sound was suddenly interrupted by the squeak of someone's shoes slipping on a patch of wetness on the wooden hull.

"Ugh!" someone with a harsher voice than even Rodney's sounded called out. "What the…? Get 'im out o' there!"

Carson heard a grunt and could almost see a faint shadow as Rodney was backhanded cruelly by one of the men. His gasping and wheezing for breath could be heard clearly, though, as Carson saw a figure in the darkness holding Rodney by the throat. Trying to move to help his friend, Carson was backhanded too by another of the men.

"I'll teach you to make a mess on my fair ship!" the man strangling Rodney growled furiously.

But yet another man pulled at his arm, sounding worried as he tried to get the angry man's attention. "They're needed alive. Ye can't strangle 'em yet, sir. The Cap'n would hang us from the mast!"

Carson could now see the large man's face and rumpled shirt in the darkness, if only just barely. A jagged scar stretched from the top of his balding head down to his chin, and he held Rodney in a strangle-hold that was making his face turn pale and his eyes roll up into his skull as unconsciousness loomed. He was grinning with delight, oblivious to the potential harm he was doing to his prisoner, just as he was oblivious to the worried and shocked expressions on the faces of his comrades. They seemed to fear him nearly as much as their prisoners did.

"Let him go!" Carson shouted in a panic as he watched Rodney fall unconscious, and still the scarred man squeezed mercilessly. Carson's captors tightened their grip on him as he struggled, and he was held firmly back. "Please, stop! You're goin' ta kill him!"


	5. Ransoms and Death Threats

A/N: Hope you're all enjoying this, folks. I'm really trying to keep the threads of this story organized, and it sure is tough. I'm also trying to keep the team essense of this story in place.

* * *

A gunshot sounded from just outside the confines of the small room, and everyone inside froze in place as the scarred man cried out in surprise and shock. Tiny maroon droplets of blood could be seen spattered onto Dr. McKay's face as he was suddenly released and allowed to collapse into a heap on the floor. Slow boot-falls then began to echo along the hull, and the scarred man panicked, fell to his knees, and then scrambled backward, clutching at his right arm as he crawled. Carson could just barely make out that the bullet had passed through the man's flesh and embedded itself in a small crater of wooden slivers in the hull until a shadow suddenly blocked the light shining in through the now wide-open doorway. 

"A fine weapon," the silhouette mused with a note of approval, taking another couple of steps closer to Carson as he turned a Beretta handgun over in his fingers. "This is much more accurate and significantly smaller than even our best muskets."

Their side-arms had been taken from them upon arriving, and Carson hadn't really thought about what reason these men could've had for kidnapping them, although obtaining access to their more advanced weaponry was starting to seem like a logical motive. But why would they kidnap him and Rodney, then? Why not try for Colonel Sheppard or Teyla with their powerful P90 machine guns, or try for Ronon with his Satedan stunner weapon? Perhaps he and Rodney had seemed like easier targets.

Hardening his expression into a cold scowl of indignation at the idea, Carson pursed his lips tightly shut, unwilling to give the man brandishing the weapon the benefit of a response.

But it did not seem to bother him, and his deliberate gaze moved slowly from Carson to the scarred man cowering angrily on the floor. His lips curled into a smirk of amusement, and he folded his arms in front of him contemplatively. "Ya weren't about ta disobey a direct order from yer captain just now, were ya Sonnal?"

All eyes shifted toward the scarred man, his face markedly drained of color, and watched as he slowly pushed himself up onto shaky feet. "No, sir. I was just…"

"I don't want ta hear any pathetic excuses. Y'all know what yer duties are, and I'll not tolerate any more foolish outbursts." The voice was calm, but had turned harsh and cold, betraying no hint of disappointment or hesitation. The mere tone of the man's words seemed to drive fear into the men holding Carson, and he began to wonder if it wouldn't be such a bad idea after all to agree to cooperate with his captors. As it was, he did not desire to bring the man's attention back onto himself.

The man's piercing gaze lingered on the scarred man for a few moments before his eyes moved across the room, and his nose wrinkled with disgust as the stench of vomit assaulted his nostrils. He turned to leave, voicing his orders firmly. "Wake that one up and bring 'em both up on deck. And someone clean up that mess."

* * *

John's thumb fidgeted, and he placed his other hand over top of it in an effort to continue hiding his impatience for as long as he could, but it was now well past noon and the Gulran port-master had yet to show his face in his own office. He, Henry, Lt. Laura Cadman, and Major Lorne sat in chairs in a small corner of the huge warehouse-like structure, the port-master's office located in a smaller adjoining room, waiting for him to return. The woman sitting at the desk at the front of the building, sitting idly for the most part, had claimed that he would be back soon, but any requests for more information were responded to with the same absently repeated line of excuses every time. 

He should have realized that going to the port-master would be a waste of time after Henry had told him that he would be of very little help, but all night searching the docks for signs of Carson and Rodney had turned up nothing. Even with the assistance of all three of the search teams that Dr. Weir had thrown together at the last minute and sent to render assistance, with which Lt. Cadman and Major Lorne had arrived, they hadn't yet searched even half of the ships docked at piers on the dock, and had even managed to anger some of the local fishermen too poor to afford a home anywhere but on their boat.

They were lucky that they hadn't been arrested themselves on complaints, but Henry had assured him that the local constabulary didn't really care and said that no one would accost them over it in the morning. And so, here he was, waiting for the port-master to return in his cavernous office while Ronon and Teyla led the continued the search. It was well after midday when John felt himself get up out of his chair, ready to give up, and a disheveled and unkempt man with long, dark hair suddenly burst through the front door, walked past the front desk, and stormed into the port-master's office.

With a questioning look directed toward the woman at the desk, she met his gaze, cocked her head, and nodded tersely before returning to her idleness. John had had enough of this and deliberately stood and strode into the port-master's office without waiting for an invitation, Lorne and Cadman in tow. The man inside didn't bother to even meet his eye as he came in, much less offer a greeting.

"What do you want?" the man John presumed was the port-master asked after taking a moment to rearrange the paperwork that littered the desk, then sat down heavily in the chair. "I'm a very busy man and I have a lot of work to do, as you can see."

John seethed. It was one thing to be too busy and not have time for new complaints, but this guy just didn't seem to care and actually had the gall to pretend that he ever bothered to do any real work at all. Biting back his flaring temper, John at least tried to be civil.

He forced himself to speak evenly and calmly. "Two friends of mine were kidnapped last night, and we've been told that they were taken toward the docks."

The port-master simply leaned back in his chair and looked up at him with a tedious expression, not bothering to attempt to stifle his yawn. "And…?"

Trying to reason with men like this often tried his patience. "And, I'd like some help getting them back and finding the perpetrators."

The man laughed mockingly, which was followed by a loud belch, much to John's chagrin. "What makes you think I have the manpower, the money, the time, or the inclination to help you?"

John ground his teeth with annoyance. "Someone said that they recognized the gang that kidnapped my friends as being in the employment of someone named Te'Lan."

"Te'Lan?" the port-master asked curiously, leaning forward and gazing at him with squinting, suspicious eyes. The name had obviously garnered some interest. "And you know which pier his ship is docked at?"

"Well, no, I don't," John answered honestly with some confusion. "But we've been searching ships on the docks all night, and we haven't had much cooperation from the locals."

The port-master scowled and scoffed, waving a hand at John in dismissal. "There are a lot of piers on this island. If you don't know which one his ship is docked at, you can be of no assistance to me in apprehending him. If this happened last night, his ship has likely already departed the dock anyway. I suggest you forget about any debts that your 'friends' might have owed you and move on."

John stared incredulously, dumbstruck by the man's blatant disregard for common decency and the lack of any compassion whatsoever. Leaning over the desk angrily, he stared down at the port-master, who was, unfortunately, not overly intimidated. "You're supposed to be in charge of law and order on these docks, damn it! And you can just sit there and smugly tell me to move on while in the meantime only God knows what is happening to my friends?"

The tedious look on the port-master's face was changing to one of annoyance. "Go away before I cite you with trespassing."

About to lose himself to his outrage, the only thing that saved the port-master from a swift right hook to his infuriatingly smug jaw was the quick hand that Lorne had placed on John's shoulder.

"Let's go, Sir," Lorne whispered softly. "The others are going to need all the help they can get searching the rest of the docks."

John still fumed. "I'm _not_ leaving until—"

A sudden knock at the door interrupted John's protest before he could finish voicing it. A young boy stood at the door, holding an envelope and looking terrified. He slowly held the envelope up, gazing in terror at the port-master, who sighed and stood to take it from him. The mail for the port-master's office didn't usually come that late in the afternoon, and was usually left with the woman at the front desk. The moment the envelope touched the port-master's fingers, the boy dashed away, leaving the office's occupants staring after him curiously.

Choosing to ignore the visitors to his office further, the port-master returned to his chair and began to remove the seal on the envelope. Upon reading its contents, however, a rather shocked and confused expression was predominant on his features. When John had collected himself enough to swallow his pride and bury his anger, the port-master suddenly rose from his chair as John turned to leave.

"Wait," he called firmly, holding up the letter for them to see. "I think this message is meant for you. I certainly have no vested interest in it."

John took the letter from him, but as he examined it, he could not interpret the symbols scribed on its surface. He instead passed the letter to Henry.

"What does it say?" John asked Henry eagerly.

A few moments after Henry began to read, his eyes went wide with worry, and his hands began to tremble. "It's a ransom note… and a death threat."

John stared at him, aghast with shock. "What do they want?"

"They want more of your weapons," he stated plainly, then held up the letter for John to see. "You see that smudge of ink near the corner? It's a death threat. The letter was worded politely, but I firmly believe that they will kill your friends if you don't give them what they want within six days time."

John gulped hard, turning to leave the office as quickly as possible. There was no time to lose. If that pompous ass of a port-master would do no more to help them, he was going to make damn sure that not another moment was wasted in the search for a lead.

* * *

Carson had been cruelly dragged outside into the blinding light, his eyes beginning to fill with tears against the sudden sunlight and chilly air, and was forced to watch as Rodney was kicked repeatedly in the ribs and a bucket of freezing cold sea water was dumped on his head. Rodney had stirred and opened his eyes with a groan of protest at the sensation caused by the frigid water, and he shivered uncontrollably as he was hauled up to his feet. Carson's eyes began to clear as they dragged him and Rodney towards the main deck of the ship. 

It was a bright and sunny day, despite the chill in the air, and a stiff breeze blew over surface the sea, coming in gusts that made the sails of the ship on which they were standing whip about strongly with the currents of the wind. Swells of water broke against the bow, occasionally spraying sea water over the gunwalls onto the crewmen that toiled on the decks of the ship. Sea birds cawed over their heads, seeming as though they were being drawn by the clink of the chains and shackles that the two men still wore. They trudged forward towards the center of the deck until rough hands pulled them to a halt.

It was just now that Carson recognized the man that had been holding the Beretta, and now, as he stood by the gunwalls looking out at the blue-black sea, Carson saw that it was the same man that had approached their table back in the tavern. The long coat he wore was the same, as was the greasy, but combed gray-flecked dark hair and beard. And now, as the sun had sunk just low enough to glint off the smooth facets of the ocean that stretched in all directions as far as the eye could see, he gazed lovingly at the sea, the bright emerald green color of his eyes vivid in the afternoon light.

"I'm Captain Te'Lan, the Emerald Wanderer," he introduced himself humbly before turning his serene emerald gaze on them. "You lads got names?"

Rodney rubbed absently at his aching head, but neither he nor Carson answered, choosing instead to remain silent.

"If ya knew who I was, you'd probably not choose to defy me," Te'Lan reasoned curiously, as if no one had ever before dared not to answer him when asked a direct question. But his lips curled into a haughty smile and he laughed loudly, balancing lightly on the balls of his feet. The crew had paused in their work to see what he was laughing at, and most of them were now gazing at the interchange curiously. "I suppose I'll have ta be workin' to improve my reputation then. They call me the Scourge o' the Eastern Midway. I'm a well-respected an' battle-hardened Privateer in some lands, an' I'm considered a pirate in others."

He paused for a few moments while the significance of his words sank in for his prisoners, then continued.

"You're probably wonderin' why I brought ye here," he began lightly, smiling amiably and speaking as if he had done Carson and Rodney a favor by kidnapping them. "Ta be blunt, I intend ta ransom ya both. If yer friends don't pay up, I may be forced ta kill ye. For yer sakes an' mine, I certainly hope it won't come ta that. Yer friends seemed smart 'nuff to know better than ta doubt my sincerity when I make a threat."


	6. Hard Work for Hardtack

A/N: I would like to take this moment to declare myself in a total state of denial after watching "Sunday". It never happened, and it shall never be acknowledged in those universes of my creation.

* * *

"On a ship like this, men must work for a livin'," Te'Lan had said with a hearty chuckle. "Ya either work or ya sit in the bilge chained up an' starvin'. An' don't be thinkin' that there's ta be any escapin' from this ship, neither. Where would ya go? Only place ta go would be over the gunwalls, an' ya can trust that would nay be pleasant. If the cold does'na get ya, the sea-scurries will. Those beasties love the taste of human flesh." 

With all said that the captain had deemed needed to be said, Carson and Rodney's shackles were promptly removed from their wrists and ankles, and both their jackets and their shirts were taken from them. Carson could not help but wonder how the crew seemed to come under the impression that he and Rodney were rich men, and although the fabric of their clothing was cleanly machine-woven and synthetic in nature, he wouldn't have suspected that the crew would find them so valuable. Some of their captors lauded and fought over the bits of clothing for themselves, and the foray eventually resulted in the tearing of Carson's jacket and the shredding of Rodney's shirt. It was then that Sonnal reappeared from below-decks and glared down at them with the purest expression of contempt that either of them had ever seen.

Without warning, Carson was hauled back up to his feet by a single hand on his throat, pressing him against the main mast. "The Cap'n ordered that ye be given a chance ta work for yer dinner this evenin', but don't fool yerselves into thinkin' I'll be letting ya off easy. I'm Sonnal, the coxswain an' first mate on this boat. If I catch you lubbers slackin' or up ta no good, don't think that I won't toss ya over the gunwalls to the scurries myself. Ya got that?"

Carson nodded as much as the man's tight grip on his neck would allow and did not resist when the man pulled his face closer. Sonnal's lips curled into a snarl, and Carson cringed in disgust at the stench of the man's foul breath that wafted from him.

"That don't sound like a proper response ta me," Sonnal growled lowly, letting loose a gob of spit that landed right on Carson's cheek. "You'll address the captain's officers with respect unless you want ta meet the rope's end!"

"Aye... sir," Carson gasped, clawing at the hand that held him in its grip and trying to turn his head away.

Releasing Carson's neck with a rough shove, he bore down on Rodney next, jabbing a grimy finger into his ribs threateningly. "An' that goes for you, too. Don't ya be forgettin' it."

Captain Te'Lan had retired to his quarters for some time after that, and Sonnal again disappeared from sight. The first undignified duty of Rodney's and Carson's unfortunate debacle was finally assigned to them. A thin man with equally thinning hair wearing what appeared to be a short pair of breeches handed them each a flat piece of what appeared to be sandstone. Both Carson and Rodney looked down at the filthy stones, then back at the man questioningly.

"You lads look like you've never seen a holystone before!" He cackled madly with laughter, and a few men looking below from the crow's nest joined him in his laughter. "Yer scourin' the decks today, mateys! There's quite a bit o' algae an' mineral salts built up since the last good swabbin'. Best get to it, if ya expect ta eat tonight!"

Rodney had opened his mouth to utter a bit of snarky commentary, but had not managed to speak more than a few unintelligible words before having a bucket of seawater thrust into his arms, which spilled in abundance onto his pants. Promptly shutting his mouth, he silently followed Carson's lead as he knelt down and began scrubbing. Rodney knew that his back would twitch and twist from the cold, not to mention from the awkward position of kneeling.

Clouds drifted lazily across the bright violet-blue sky occasionally blocking out the sunlight a bit, but not quite often enough to let Carson become too uncomfortably cold. Rodney, however, was shivering miserably from the wetness that was drying slowly in the remaining clothing that he wore from the waist down. Eventually the stiff breeze calmed and Rodney's shivering had lessened while the sun shone down on them, and it eventually disappeared below the horizon, turning the sky to orange and indigo colored hues of dusk. Carson's mind wandered with the mindless dragging of time as their hands accustomed themselves to the task of scrubbing, and the faces of the friends and comrades that he and Rodney had left behind passed through his thoughts. Not that he would've wished his fate on Rodney had the opportunity to relieve him of it presented itself, but it would have been so much worse if he had been kidnapped by himself, and he found himself thanking his lucky stars that Rodney hadn't decided to leave him alone at the bar the previous day.

Soon enough they did not have enough light left to continue their scrubbing, and their knuckles were already scraped and raw from just the couple of hours of hard labor they'd invested thus far. Captain Te'Lan and Sonnal had left them alone for the most part, but as the darkness encroached, the teasing and berating from the crewman who had drenched Rodney with the bucket had gone on for some time unabated. When the majority of the crew had finally begun to disappear below decks to have their meal, he'd snuck in a swift kick to Rodney's ribs. Rolling painfully onto his side, Rodney could barely even manage a moan through the clenched cold muscles of his body, and Carson had finally had enough of the abuse. Jumping up to his feet, he threw himself at the crewman and tackled him to the deck.

The fight quickly morphed into a wrestling match. Carson found himself not to be quite so out of practice as he thought and had the man in an elbow lock and strangle-hold in just a few moments. The crewman spit and howled and yelled, but Carson was furious and did not let go... until a field of stars suddenly passed before his vision as something impacted his head from behind. Carson felt himself falling backward onto the deck. It had been Sonnal, and he was now reaching down for Carson's neck as if to strangle him.

"Nerry, I told ye ta watch them carefully, ya moron!" Sonnal spat with disgust, dragging Carson to his knees so that Rodney, who was still struggling just to sit up, could watch him being strangled. "This one seems ta be eager for a wallopin'."

The stars continued flying through Carson's vision, but just as he thought that he might lose consciousness, a solemn, but cheerful voice spoke quietly, prompting Sonnal to loosen his grip enough for him to breathe. "Be careful, Sonnal. Remember that I want ta keep them both alive for now, or my plans ta ransom them back ta their friends will be for naught. If he dies, I'll see that ye join him in his fate. You'll be gettin' no more warnings."

"Aye, sir," Sonnal affirmed with a confused, but angry tone, still holding Carson firmly by the throat. "But this one attacked Nerry. He should be punished for that!"

Te'Lan stepped forward, emerging from the shadows being cast by the mast. He leaned over Carson and studied him, as if carefully considering what punishment he deserved. His eyes locked on Carson's powdery blue eyes and Carson's on his emerald greens. It seemed like a long moment before he finally spoke with a soft chuckle. "I saw ye defendin' yer friend, lad. I respect a man who defends his friends, especially while not bein' in a position that's advantaged ta do so.

"Let 'im go," Te'Lan ordered firmly after a dramatic pause, smiling pleasantly at Sonnal and straightening his posture regally. "I'm startin' ta like him more than I like you, Sonnal. If ye value yer job, you'd best hope I don't think ta ask him ta stay on as first mate once his friends pay the ransom. Now, arrange ta give 'em their dinner. I don't think I've ever seen this part o' the deck so clean."

Carson stared after him as he walked back to his quarters, dumbfounded, and then as shared a glance with Rodney, he saw the same perplexed expression that mirrored his own. He couldn't say that he'd met very many pirates over the course of his life, but he'd never have expected to be kidnapped by one, much less a pirate that actually seemed somewhat decent. It was totally unexpected, not that it was unwelcome, but he was suddenly sure that being in the care of two crewmen that had just been told that they were not as well liked as he, their prisoner, could not have been a good thing. Carson looked up at Sonnal and Nerry with dread as their rough hands firmly grasped their arms and led them both back toward the door to the bilge of the ship.

Sonnal tossed them inside while Nerry wandered off, and just after subtly checking to make sure no one outside was looking, he quickly stepped forward into the bilge space and thrust his foot into Carson's stomach as hard as he could. Doubling over and falling to his knees, Carson gasped for air, clutching at his abdomen while Rodney watched from the corner.

"Don't ever be thinkin' that you'll manage ta live through this on just the captain's good graces," he sneered menacingly, and Carson did not doubt that he meant it. He leaned down over him and snarled, his putrid breath once more assaulting Carson's nose. "An' if ya ever undermine my authority in front o' him like that again, I'll not hesitate to gut ya in an instant, to hell with the ransom."

It was then that Nerry returned, and he brandished a couple of brown objects that initially appeared to be biscuits of some kind. But when he tossed them into the room at the two prisoners, Carson could see that those 'biscuits' were actually hard as rocks and skittered across the floor toward them as if made of stone.

"Enjoy your dinner," Nerry said with a hideous snort of laughter, and then turned to leave. Sonnal's accompanying chuckle was deep and merciless, and he shut the door soundly and firmly, locking it behind him and leaving Carson and Rodney in utter darkness.

"You didn't have to do that, you know," Rodney muttered softly from the corner after a moment. His ribs and head still ached, and he didn't feel much like eating.

"O' course I did," Carson wheezed, trying to sit back carefully against the hull to ease the tremors that remained in his stomach. He was glad that Rodney could not see him wiping the tears from his eyes that had sprung forth unbidden. "It worked out a'right, I think."

A tired scoff echoed through the confines of the small space, and Carson heard Rodney shiver. "I beg to differ. Sooner or later, I think that guy is going to try to kill you."

Carson shifted uncomfortably, panting with the pain of the exertion. "He a'ready has. We're both still here though, aren't we?"

"That's my point," Rodney whined pitifully. "We're still here. All I'm saying is that if you can manage to keep that moron of a thug from murdering us both, I'm still hoping that Colonel Sheppard will figure out where we are and rescue us before the captain decides to have us both killed."

Carson didn't reply right away. He knew that the chances of Colonel Sheppard being able to find them on the open sea were nil, but Captain Te'Lan had made it clear that they were being ransomed. "Rodney, there's no reason for the captain tae permit any harm on us. We're no good to 'im dead. Somehow he does'nae seem like such a bad person, really."

"Not a bad person?" Rodney repeated incredulously. "Carson, he kidnapped us and just threatened to kill us unless the Colonel pays our ransom!"

"I know, I know," Carson said, rolling his eyes and cocking his head to the side in the darkness. "I'm just sayin' that he seems honorable… for a pirate, anyway. I don't think he'll kill us 'til he's sure they won't pay. But he's got tae return to port eventually ta collect the ransom, now doesn't he? We've some hope left."

Another scoff echoed through their small prison. "Yeah, assuming that brute doesn't kill us first, or the food. Have I mentioned that I'm claustrophobic?"

Carson would have groaned with annoyance, but stifled it as best he could. He could not help the sigh of fatigue and frustration that came instead.


	7. A Rock and A Hard Place

A/N: Sorry this has taken so long in getting out... Needed some inspiration to keep going with this. 'Sunday' has taken a heavy toll on my confidence.

* * *

The night had passed far too quickly for Carson's comfort. Earlier, he and Rodney had together sought out the rock-hard chunks of hardtack in the dark out of sheer desperation. They'd had nothing to eat or drink since the night before, and although they'd been given no water, they were forced to accept that the bricks of baked flour would simply have to suffice for the time being. They'd both had to literally smack the bricks against the hull in order to break off a few pieces small enough to eat, but the effort to simply chew them took far much more energy than it was really worth.

In the end, they'd eaten only a small portion of it, choosing instead to concentrate on resting their arms, knees, and knuckles for what they were sure would be a full day of tortuous hard labor to come. Now it was nearly dawn, and the streaks of violet and blue that signaled the coming day were not quite yet visible through the cracks in the locked door. They could not have slept more than just a few hours when a loud thwack jolted both men instantly awake. The door was thrust open, and Nerry along with two other crewmen pulled them forcibly up to their feet.

"The day waits for no man, lads," Nerry exclaimed with some delight at seeing their misery. "You've got lots o' work ahead fer both of ya today ta earn yer next meal!"

After being quickly put back to work scrubbing the rest of the decks with the same worn and dirty holystones they'd used the day before, the passing of the hours went fairly quickly. Nerry had not so cruelly molested Rodney as he had the day before, likely because of the captain's sternness toward Sonnal, and so they'd been left alone for the most part. But the hours dragged on, their stomachs tightened with hunger, and their mouths went dry with thirst.

Neither was thirsty enough yet to ask for water, but it had become obvious that as the day wore on and the temperature rose to a much balmier level, several other crewmen had become thirsty as well. Rodney paused in his scrubbing long enough to gaze down the steps that led to the lower decks, watching as a sweaty crewman that had climbed down from the crow's next above them reached into a barrel to cup what appeared to be fresh water to his mouth.

Carson had seen Rodney stop, and nudged him with an elbow to get his attention. "You're goin' ta get us in trouble. What is it?"

But instead of answering, Rodney staggered to his feet and stumbled aft towards the coxswain, his knees aching with stiffness. As much as it pained him to suppress the foul mood that often incurred such sarcasm in his voice, he took a deep breath and spoke loudly, clearly, and made every effort to seem polite. "Sir, may I get some water please?"

With an annoyed wave of his hand, the coxswain on duty did not bother to say more than, "Go on. I don't care."

Looking down at Carson excitably, he smiled and hurriedly rushed toward the steps that led down to the lower decks desperate and eager to quench his thirst. He hardly noticed as Carson also rose stiffly to his feet and politely asked for permission as well. The coxswain simply wanted to be left alone, though, and waved him off. But as Carson rushed over to catch up with Rodney, he saw a sight he'd been dreading all day. Sonnal was sitting in a chair below decks as well and had been studying a crude map when Rodney had appeared to stand by the water barrel.

"What the hell do ya think yer doin' down here?" Sonnal spat angrily as he advanced on Rodney menacingly, his target shrinking back against the wall in fright.

Rodney began to tremble and stutter, and was seriously in fear for his life. "Please, s-sir, the guy at the wheel gave m-me permission to get some water, so… I-I'm just…"

Sonnal glared at him, and then glared at Carson as he slowly approached, as if to dare either of them to make a single wrong move. Turning back to Rodney, his face contorted into a scowl. "I'm watchin' you two lubbers closely, an' the moment ye make a mistake, I'm goin' ta be there ta break ya."

He seemed reluctant to allow the two prisoners to drink, but was probably more reluctant to disobey the captain, at least for the moment. With a piercing glare still directed at them, he stepped back toward his table and maps and returned to his studying. Carson breathed a tiny breathe of relief, and then prodded Rodney to drink his fill quickly, lest Sonnal decide to change his mind about letting them drink.

"Sonnal!" Nerry's voice called suddenly from the main deck, making Carson and Rodney jump nervously and making Sonnal sigh with frustration. "Ye'd better come up here!"

"What is it?" he growled irritably, leaning his firm hands on the small table in frustration. "I'm working down here. Spit it out!"

"A ship's been spotted on the horizon ta the east, sir!" another voice shouted from further away. Carson recognized it as belonging to a crewman who frequently carried out his duties in the crow's nest. "It's a galleon bearin' the blue jack o' Gulran!"

Sonnal cursed under his breath and moved toward Rodney and Carson with a swiftness that frightened them as each of his hands gripped them both by a hank of hair. Shoving them forward, he forced them back toward the door that led into the bilge space and then tossed them both back into the depths of darkness. Their eyes took quite some time to become readjusted to the dimness, but their hearing went unimpaired. They remained relatively quiet as the frantic shouts of the crew filled the hollow space, sending shivers up their spines as sudden jolting vibrations echoed through the structure of the ship into their backs as they pressed against the inner hull.

A series of loud cracks emanated from almost directly above them, and the ship rocked back in forth in an unnatural rhythm as the creaking of wood stretching and breaking echoed along the hull. A split in the planks of wood appeared behind Carson, spraying him with frigid sea water and sending splinters deep into the skin of his back. Crying out with surprise more than pain, Carson was somewhat reassured to feel Rodney's hands grasping for him in the dark.

"Are you okay?" Rodney called out nervously into the darkness, his hands trying to help support Carson's effort to stand upright. "What happened?"

Gritting his teeth together against the pain, Carson did not answer and meagerly accepted Rodney's sturdy grip, but only ended up toppling over on top of him when a shockwave tore through the hull beneath their feet. The hole in the hull began to open wider, sending a small torrent of water through the cracks in the fragile wood and pelting their legs with splinters of wood and more frigid water. But the warping in the hull had somehow manage to crack one of the old and rusted out hinges of the door, and it now leaned precariously at an angle with the remaining hinge horribly bent and twisted.

It was a simple task to simply push the door out of the frame. Rodney peeked his head out of the doorway just long enough to ascertain that the rest of the crew were not watching them before slowly climbing up and out of the bilge space onto the main deck. As they peered around at the disarray that assaulted their senses, they saw that one of the three main masts had broken and tumbled into the water. A chain shot had severed it about a third of the way up, and as they watched in horror, crewmen were pulling belaying pins from the rigging or out of the capstan that hauled the anchor or drawing and loading muskets from storage below decks, wherever it was convenient.

The enemy had somehow managed to put the ship in a position where Te'Lan could not outrun them, mostly likely with destruction of one of the main masts, and were now in the process of pulling along side the ship to board it. Gruff sailors in dark blue uniforms began to hop over the gunwalls or slide across ropes onto the deck, and most, if not all, wielded swords or muskets of their own. Captain Te'Lan appeared from the forecastle, using the pistols taken from Carson and Rodney to kill nearly a dozen enemy sailors before drawing out his sword to cut through his enemies as thought he was cutting through a wave of water.

Sonnal could also be seen pummeling blue-uniformed sailors simply using a belaying pin, and his friend Nerry was at his back with a musket. They almost looked to be having the time of their lives. But amongst the bloodlust and defense of the ship was death and carnage, and soon everywhere they looked the moans and screams of dying men filled their ears. Carson was immediately on the move, tearing bits of cloth from torn shirts to staunch bleeding wounds. Rodney, who had no real skill with medicine, tried to help as best he could, but as he spied a group of crewmen attempting to fill and aim a canon aimed for the enemy ship, he figured that his skills would be best put to use helping them calculating the proper trajectory for the cannonball to do as much damage as possible.

Weaving through fighting crewmen and enemy sailors was difficult, but Rodney managed to reach the group preparing the canon without much incident. Using a pendulum to measure the canon's angle and doing some rough trajectory calculations in his head, Rodney struggled to twist the gear that would raise the canon's aim.

"What the hell do ya think yer doin'?" one older, white-haired crewman shouted over the din of battle. "We're aimin' fer the hull, ya lubber!"

"Aiming for the hull will only put holes in it," Rodney snapped hastily, wiping his forearm across his sweat laden brow. When he looked back at them though, they had stopped. "I don't have time to explain everything. C'mon, people, let's get this thing moving. Put your backs into it!"

They stared at him as if he was crazy.

"Alright, alright!" Rodney shouted pleadingly, using his hands in a futile effort to demonstrate his brilliance. "Look, if we aim for the supports holding the hull together just below the aft transoms, we might be able to destabilize the ship or maybe even sink it with one shot. So come on, let's move."

"We can't hit that!" the white-haired crewman scoffed. "It's under the draft!"

Rodney was getting irritated by the lack of coordination. "I'm telling you, it won't be that difficult! With a few well-tailored trajectory calculations, and we can—"

A huge, black-haired, and scruffy brute of a sailor dressed in blue suddenly appeared climbing up over the edge of the gunwalls and raised his sword, ready to plunge it into Rodney's abdomen up to the hilt. He stared at the brute, wide-eyed and disbelieving, and brought up his arms in a feeble attempt to keep from being fatally stabbed.

A shot rang out, nearly battering Rodney's already aching eardrums into a bleeding pulp. When he finally mustered up the courage to open his eyes and uncover his face, Rodney blinked at the sight of the white-haired man slowly lowering a smoking musket that had been aimed at the brute. Looking down at the man, now dead, then back at his savior, the man came up to Rodney and grabbed him firmly by the scruff of his neck.

With a sly, crooked eye, the white-haired man leaned in close to speak, almost cheerily. "Ya really think ya can get this here canon to hit the transom? Go ahead an' do it. Just keep in mind that if ya fail, we're all dead men. You'll get yer own hangin' at the Gulran execution dock right next ta ours."

With a nervous gulp, Rodney bit back the bile that had begun to build up in his throat and weakly grasped the raising gear for the canon, double- and triple-checking his calculations while he struggled. With a faint nod of his head, he motioned for them to pack the canon, and then the fuse was lit. This was the moment for Rodney to either shine as the mathematical genius he always knew he was, or to die like the pirate scoundrel that _they_ thought he was.


	8. Treading in Dangerous Waters

A/N: Sorry this has taken so long to post (again), but real life issues tend to be a real distraction for people writing fic, isn't it?

* * *

"Fire in the hole!" the white-haired sailor shouted as the fuse burned. 

Rodney covered his ears, turning away from the cannon as it fired and looked over at Carson, who was struggling with a man who was flailing wildly and clawing at the deck. The cannonball splash was huge, nearly drenching them all. But bubbles soon began to rise through the water near the aft of the hull, and some of the crewmen cheered at the good fortune that Rodney had brought them. They had at least hit the enemy ship's hull, and it was beginning to leak like a sieve.

A sudden clap on Rodney's back nearly made his knees give out from underneath him. Peering back nervously and seeing the white-haired man brandishing a broad, toothy grin at him, Rodney managed to return the smile wryly. He gulped back some bile that had collected in his throat and stepped back again as the crewman around him began to reload the cannon, and watched as they began stuffing it and the cannon next to it with two cannonballs linked by a heavy chain.

"They're ours now, lad!" the white-haired man shouted proudly, pulling Rodney into a great bear-hug.

"Yeah, sure," he barely managed to grunt through the intensity of the man's celebration.

But the fight wasn't over quite yet. As the men urged Rodney to aim the cannon for the mast, he did his best and again won them a lucky blow to the enemy ship's main mast. It cracked and splintered about half-way up, eventually falling into the water on the other side. Then Captain Te'Lan was suddenly heard shouting above the din of fighting.

"Hoist the remaining sails, lads, and haul wind!"

A flurry of movement filled the ship, and Rodney watched as a dozen or so crewmen who were fighting dropped their weapons and began to haul lines to bring up the sails, and others began to cut the ropes that the enemy ship had used to warp their ship closer to their quarry. But as he turned to watch the sails rising and fluttering in the wind, his foot slipped in a puddle of blood, and Rodney landed in it face first.

Sputtering and coughing and trying to claw the putrid stuff off of his face, Rodney turned his face and caught sight of the source of the blood; it was Nerry's blood, and he was lying in Carson's arms as he grappled futilely with the task of staunching the endless flow. Silence broken only by the light sloshing of water against the damaged hull filled the air as wounded and bleeding men secured lines and began tearing strips of cloth from their own clothing to cover the wounds of their comrades and friends. Carson worked feverishly to tie the cloth like a tourniquet around wounds, moving back and forth from each wounded man behind him and checking on Nerry every few minutes as he could, re-bandaging wounds and applying pressure where he could.

Rodney would have offered to help, but the sight of all that blood coating his bare chest and face and hands made him nauseous all over again, and he flung himself toward the gunwalls to retch the meager contents that remained in his stomach. Sonnal appeared then, running the last of the enemy sailors through with his sword and hauling the wounded man overboard without a second thought, and then shouted an order to the coxswain on the wheel to make a bearing toward a nearby port. When he then turned to see the faces of the wounded, his bearing was changed and he rushed toward his friend.

"Nerry!" he whispered, quite close to absolute panic, and began to tear off the makeshift bandages. Bright red blood welled between the sliced folds of skin on his friend's abdomen, and Sonnal nearly lost his composure completely as his hands began to tremble.

"No, don't!" Carson shouted firmly as he looked up from binding another man's leg with another makeshift tourniquet, then rose to his feet to pull Sonnal away from his patient. So long as he was a doctor, he would help those who were in need, friend or foe. "Are ye daft? Ye cannae remove his bandages! He'll bleed ta death for sure!"

Rodney watched Carson struggle with Sonnal's trembling hands as he stumbled back to the section of the deck that was slick with blood, a section that had more than a dozen men sitting there staining the decks and mumbling their appreciation for Carson's ministrations. He watched as the dying man then breathed his last breath and lay utterly still. Carson carefully placed a hand over his face to close his eyes.

Sonnal snapped. His left hand lashed out to grab Carson by the shoulder, and his right arm scooped up Carson's legs as Sonnal hauled him up and over in the direction of the gunwalls. Cursing himself for allowing his attention to be distracted from Sonnal, Carson yelped with shock and squirmed in the man's grip. "Put me down! Rodney, do somethin'!"

"There's no way anyone's goin' ta stop me from seein' you go to the scurries this time!" Sonnal grunted angrily as he nearly lost his grip, but he drew his sword and used the pommel against Carson's skull, sending him into a dazed stupor.

Rodney began to panic and jumped on Sonnal's back, trying to unbalance him enough to let Carson fall safely onto the deck, but the man was too strong and simply flung him off. Carson's arms and legs were dangling over the side of the ship. But as he began to regain some awareness, he tried to fling out his hands to grab hold of Rodney, or Sonnal, or something that felt safely grounded.

The sound of a gun's hammer cocking suddenly echoed through his ears. Sonnal had obviously heard it too and had stiffened, but had thankfully had not yet dropped Carson. And as he gazed down at the waters below, Carson could see the sharp jaws of some kind of fish or sharks gnawing at the blood-covered wood splinters spattering the surface of the water, and he immediately redoubled his efforts to grab hold of something, anything to keep him from falling to his death.

No one dared move, nor even breathe, as Te'Lan held the pistol to Sonnal's head with unbelievable steadiness in both his hand and his voice. "I'd hate to have ta kill ya, mate, but if he dies, the next shot fired from this fine weapon here is goin' ta be lodged quite firmly in yer brain."

Each of Sonnal's breaths came in quick, ragged huffs as he struggled to choose between the two options presented before him, and fortunately for Carson, he found the choice much more difficult than he ever could have wanted. Without a word, Sonnal brought Carson just close enough to the ledge of the gunwalls for him to grab hold of it, and then promptly strode below decks, his face red with rage and his teeth firmly latched shut.

Rodney immediately rushed over to help Carson back up onto the deck, and after a moment had managed to get him up and over. Sprawled out on the deck and gasping for breath, a few other crewman looked on as Rodney knelt down next to him.

"Are you alright?" Rodney asked Carson softly, and then the white-haired man he'd assisted with the cannon suddenly appeared at his side.

Carson could barely do more than grit his teeth and nod, but even that simple movement seemed to cause him pain. He grunted a weak reply and rubbed absently at the lump forming on his head.

Rodney thought it odd that this one person seemed to have more of an interest in him than simply avoiding punishment from the captain, but tried to dismiss the thought as he was offered a small wooden cup. He sniffed tentatively at its contents, and the man scowled in annoyance, but seemed more amused than annoyed. "'Tis only water, lad. But if I didn't think Sonnal would piss in it first, I'd offer ye a stiff drink instead. We've been in a few scrapes in the past, and sure could'a used someone with your luck then!"

"It wasn't luck," Rodney said simply and was about to continue, but shut his mouth instead. He would normally have been intent on arguing that physics and ballistic trajectories are worth learning about, but decided against it, preferring instead to avoid making yet another enemy from someone else in the crew. They would need all the friends they could get if he and Carson were going to live through this.

* * *

The six frustrated searchers stopped in front of their destination and looked up at it. The ramshackle house-like structure was poorly constructed, but painted brightly and lavishly with gold, blue, and lavender colors. Ronon folded his arms across his chest and immediately peered over his shoulder, as if expecting an ambush, but none came. All he really wanted was simply to get out of the cold, chilly rain, and didn't particularly care what kind of place he had to stand inside in order to do so. 

Breathing a frustrated sigh of relief and finally finding the place they'd been looking for most of the day, Colonel Sheppard tried to relax his aching shoulders, which were beginning to become quite sore from carrying even the small the weight of his weapon that was attached to his vest. It didn't weigh much, but weighed just enough to pull his shoulders forward in such a way that two straight days of walking around the docks and questioning fisherman and sutlers had begun to put quite a strain on his muscles. He yearned for simply a nice, cozy bed to crawl into, but would sooner continue to walk endlessly than sleep while his friends' lives could be in danger.

"This is the right place this time, isn't it?" Sheppard asked tiredly, moving a strap on his vest to keep it from biting further into his left side. "That crazy guy's information had better be worth all that we paid for it."

"I… well…" Henry began tentatively, shifting his weight on his feet uncomfortably. "I think this is the right place, but honestly, I'd not be caught dead even appearing to solicit services from such a… disreputable establishment as this one."

"Okay…" John said after a moment, taking another deep breath. "So who's going to go in and ask about Carson and Rodney? Do we have any volunteers?"

Henry, Ronon, Major Lorne, and Colonel Sheppard looked at each other first, and then slowly turned in unison, gazing expectantly at the two women standing toward the back of the group. Lt. Cadman and Teyla shared a quick glance, and then glared back at the men with confusion and anger etched on their faces. Teyla seemed to be momentarily stricken speechless by the absurdity of the suggestion, but Laura Cadman had no such difficulty speaking her mind.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me," she stated incredulously. "Do you have any idea what they'd probably do to us if we went in there by ourselves? Teyla and I are _not_ going in there alone!"

Henry's hopeful smile twisted into a scowl of embarrassment, but gave John an honest shrug as if to admit that the women could have a point.

"Alright, alright," John said as he rubbed at a sudden and foreboding ache in his forehead and nodded in agreement. "We'll all go together."

Taking each feeble step hesitantly under their boots, the team made their way through the brightly painted doors and the glamorously decorated hallway into a larger room graced by a wooden table and several bright colored, well-used, and disgustingly filthy couches. None of them dared to allow themselves to wonder about the source of the numerous stains and clumps of hair that blatantly covered the fabric.

A scantily dressed woman with overflowing cleavage greeted them cheerily. "Welcome to Hellan's House of Comfort! What'll be your pleasure this evening, gents? Blonde, brunette, redhead, or shall I let ya choose fer yerselves? Girls, out and about! We have clients!"

"Actually, uh, we just need…" John attempted to simply make their needs plain and clear, but was immediately distracted by more than a half dozen women dressed and covered in naught but a few strips of linen, several of which were pressing themselves against him, and one even reached out to touch the fabric of his vest and jacket. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Henry shrink back and cover his eyes with embarrassment, and also saw Lt. Cadman's grip on her weapon tighten nervously. Ronon snickered with amusement, and Teyla glared at him threateningly.

The woman in charge had obviously mistaken them for rich patrons looking for a good time, and John quickly grew tired of fending off the women's hands as they reached into his pockets looking for any valuables or money they could steal. Pushing away the three women who were practically throwing themselves at him as carefully as he could, he took a step forward and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but we don't have any money, and we're not here for the… uh… entertainment. We need information."

With a suspicious and cockeyed expression, the woman at the desk peered over at them curiously, snapped her fingers, and folded her arms sternly. "No money, no women. I think ya'd best leave, friends. Come back when you have something of value to trade for what ye want."

The women wandered away restlessly, not even seeming to be all that disappointed in losing an opportunity to fleece customers of their valuables. John gratefully watched them go and looked to Henry for guidance, but there was not much to give. He was probably going to be on his own for this one, and would likely cost the expedition that much more of its allotted trade goods in exchange.

His persistence had piqued the woman's interest, at least.


	9. A Pirate's Revenge

A/N: Sorry this has been so long in coming. I've been inspired by all the good news about Carson. Check out savecarson dot com and you'll know what I mean!

* * *

Carson was utterly exhausted. Not only had Rodney done a clumsy job of removing the wooden splinters from his back as he worked to save the dying crewmen littering the floor of the crew quarters around him, but it was well into the night and working by the light of the oil lanterns was beginning to put a serious strain on his eyes. Most of the crew were slumbering uneasily in their hammocks, and a few more sat idly against the hull, dozing. 

Rodney hadn't let him out of his sight yet, though. His arms were folded surreptitiously under his head against the roughness of the deck, which was covered by splinters that had been strewn everywhere in the blasts, and his legs twitched spasmodically as he dreamt. It wasn't that Carson didn't appreciate Rodney, but all he was concerned with at the moment was helping the dying man lying next to him, and the primitive knife and dirty fabric for bandages he'd been given to work with weren't of much help. Most of the crew had been grateful of his ministrations and had even helped by offering up a portion of their alcoholic rations upon being asked, but a few, including Sonnal, were too concerned with their own grief to give consideration to his demands no matter how qualified he insisted he was to help the wounded.

Eventually, Carson finally finished doing what he could and sat back, intent on resting for just long enough to make sure he didn't accidentally kill his next patient. The soft slosh of water against the hull of the ship was surprisingly comforting as his eyes drifted closed.

The uneven tapping of booted footsteps across the deck moving toward him didn't immediately register in Carson's mind. He was far too tired to care who was moving about to relieve himself over the gunwalls of the deck… until a blunt object suddenly came into contact with his skull. Without a word or hardly even a sound, he was then only vaguely aware of being dragged up toward the main deck.

Slowly, as he began to come around, he became aware of the fact that his hands had been bound behind him and that his ankles were wrapped with a heavy chain attached to a large weight that resembled a cannonball. Attempting to blink away some of the pounding in his head, he looked around and then up at the figure standing over him swathed in shadows.

A bottle was being eagerly raised to the shadowy person's lips. The stench of drunkenness wafted from the man as he staggered, but Carson was suddenly aware that the ship had dropped anchor and was no longer moving. Looking out over the water, he saw that the ship had stopped in a shallow harbor near a very small chain of islands. They probably weren't far from port where Captain Te'Lan had said they'd need to make repairs to the ship, but the islands were neither close enough nor large enough to attempt to make an escape anyway.

"Do ya know what's goin' ta happen tonight?" Sonnal sneered drunkenly, then emptied the bottle and tossed it over the side of the ship.

Carson's head hurt too much to bother attempting to answer.

"I'm goin' ta kill ya," he touted softly with a chuckle. "I'm goin' ta kill ya nice an' slow, and yer goin' ta suffer horribly. I'll make sure o' that."

"Why?" It was all that Carson could manage to whisper through the pain.

Sonnal laughed again as if he'd just heard the most idiotic question he'd ever heard in his life. "Why? 'Cause you killed 'im. You let 'im die. It should'a been you, not him. Just one step ta the left, an' it'd be you dead instead."

He really didn't want to deal with this right now. "Sonnal, I cannae change what happened and I cannae bring yer friend back, but I can help yer crew if ye'd just let me."

Something about the way that Sonnal simply smiled down at him began to frighten him beyond all reason. "You're not goin' ta do anything tonight except die."

As Sonnal bent down to pick up the weight tied to his ankles, Carson's breathing quickened. "Please, ye don't know what yer doin'! I could'nae help yer friend, but I can help the crew! There's no need fer this!"

When it became apparent that Sonnal was deriving far too much pleasure to listen, Carson started getting more desperate. "What will Captain Te'Lan do when he realizes that ye've killed me against his wishes? He'll punish ye for it!"

Sonnal paused for a spell, his face momentarily turning pale and blank, but his expression quickly turned once more. "Be sure an' ta give Nerry me regards when ya see 'im in hell after the scurries bleach yer bones!"

Carson yelled in horror as the man's strong hands lifted him up and toward the gunwalls, the chain binding his wrists and ankles clinking faintly in the quiet calm of the night. "Rodney, help! Good Lord, please stop! Rodney! Somebody do somethin'!"

The sickening sensation of falling suddenly overwhelmed him, but not before he caught a glimpse of shadows moving behind Sonnal. The water below swallowed him, and he began to sink quickly as he fell into the depths. Bubbles of breath leaked from his lungs far too quickly for comfort, but that wasn't the worst part.

He felt the sensation of fish swimming past his face and fingers, and he wondered idly if these could be the "scurries" that the captain had told them about. Then Carson felt the brush of their sharp teeth against his flesh, and what little air that remained in his lungs was nearly expelled all at once. It was just a moment later that a few of them began to bite at him, and soon the water around him began to taste bitter, like blood… his blood.

Sonnal stood watching over the water and uncorked another bottle of alcohol. He turned, a smugly disturbed smile plastered on his face, and raised the bottle to drink from it when a shadow suddenly ran forward and thrust its fist into his face.

Rodney yelled angrily as he threw his punch, but drew back quickly after his attack to cradle his hand.

He knew he was in trouble when Sonnal's face twisted, practically unfazed by the attack except for perhaps some shock at its apparent source. The would-be murderer reached out for Rodney's neck, intent on strangling him, a new, more sinister grin present where the smugness had been.

A shot rang out, and then suddenly Sonnal was no longer strangling him, but collapsing limply against him. Rodney twisted underneath the dead weight, desperately trying to wriggle free before he was smothered.

"Are ye alright, lad?" a voice Rodney recognized as belonging to the aged sailor he'd helped earlier said softly from somewhere behind him, just as the weight of the leaden body was lifted off of him.

He scrambled to his feet and dashed for the side of the ship, gazing out into the water with desperation etched on his face. " Carson! Where did he… Carson…?"

A few bubbles rose to the surface.

Rodney took a deep breath and dove into the water without hesitation.

If not for the near-full moonlight shining brightly overhead, he might not have caught sight of Carson being thrown overboard. As dark as it was outside, it was pitch black under the water, and Rodney could not see anything within its depths. But panic for his friend's well-being drove him to swim deeper, sweeping his arms and legs out in great motions in an attempt to feel something, anything at all.

Seconds ticked past, each one feeling like minutes, and he returned to the surface gasping for air. Time was running out! He dove again, his search becoming even more desperate. Rodney swept out his arms and kicked as hard as he could, but the bubbles seemed to come from everywhere at once. Then, as he was nearly out of breath again, he returned to the surface, but could have sworn that his foot had touched something.

He dove one more time… and found Carson. The bubbles had stopped rising a few seconds ago, and Rodney began to fear the worst as his hands felt for whatever was holding him down to the bottom of the luckily shallow waters. The chains were still wrapped tightly around his ankles, and were secured with a thin, but strong bit of rope that was tightly knotted and would not budge.

Rising to the surface once more, Rodney's voice cracked as he shouted to the crewmen watching incredulously from behind the safety of the gunwalls. "Quick, somebody give me a knife!"

The first attempt the aged sailor made to toss him a knife was a frustrating failure, but Captain Te'Lan himself had at least had the sense to carefully reach over the gunwalls and hand Rodney his sword. Diving down into the water one last time, Rodney prayed that he'd not lost his bearing toward Carson.

Luckily, he didn't.

But Carson was disturbingly motionless when Rodney finally managed to wrench his ankles free of the rope binding the chain to him. Fish were swimming through his hair, and after a few moments had begun to tickle and tease Rodney's bare flesh as he attempted to haul Carson toward the surface. Rubbing his free hand over his exposed skin to discourage the fish, Rodney did his best to ignore them.

"Get us out of here NOW!" he shouted the second they broke the surface of the water together.

Carson was unconscious and in bad shape. A rope was lowered down to the water, and Rodney grunted with exertion and pain as the fish began to bite at him more and more, as though in a feeding frenzy, but managed to get the rope around both of them. They were lifted out of the water agonizingly slowly.

Laying him back carefully against the deck, Rodney saw the blood running in streaks from Carson's face, chest, and arms. " Carson! Carson, c'mon! Wake up! Say something!"

He did not move.

Rodney fumbled through his memory, running his hands through his hair and desperately trying to remember the first-aid procedures for resuscitating a drowning victim. Feeling for a pulse, Rodney couldn't find it. Panic welled up inside him, and water dripped into his eyes as he immediately started chest compressions.

"Lad," the older sailor said softly. "Let 'im go… He's dead."

"No!" Rodney insisted, and then tilted Carson's head back to apply artificial respiration. "I… I can save him…"

With another set of breaths from Rodney, Carson coughed violently and began to vomit seawater onto the deck next to him… then took in a few shaky breaths. Most of the crew took a hesitant step back with surprise, confusion, or fear. Rodney sighed with relief, nearly collapsing into a heap next to his friend in relief, and his chest heaved for air. "I swear, Carson… If you make it through this, I will never call your work voodoo ever again."

Watching his friend attempt to blink away some of his disorientation, Rodney thought he also saw the corners of Carson's mouth rise with amusement as he struggled to regain his breath. But now that his friend's life was no longer in mortal danger, the paranoia once again burdened him, and Rodney peered around nervously, trying to make sure that Sonnal wasn't once again up and ready to murder them.

"Sonnal is dead," Captain Te'Lan assured him, and his voice was tinged with a hint of amusement. "He disobeyed orders, an' we all know the consequences of that now, don't we?"

The crewmen that had been watching took a collective step back and hushed to a dead silence, apparently desiring to not draw the captain's attention. Rodney inwardly breathed a sigh of relief, gazing back at Carson's still and near-unconscious form.

"Ya'll know I'm a fair Cap'n, lads," Te'Lan explained slowly, as if annoyed at having to say it. "But if ya disobey, the consequences are severe. I'm not required to give warnings, an' if I do give ya one, take a lesson from Sonnal and make sure ya listen."

Calling the aged man over, Te'Lan addressed him by name. "Jess – you're my new first mate."

The older man, Jess, smiled proudly. "Aye, Cap'n! I'm honored ta serve. What'll be yer first order ta carry out, sir?"

Te'Lan clapped him on the back with a smile, but his face then turned stony, all business once more. "Let's have anchors aweigh. I want ta get in ta port before mornin', an' since the cargo hold compartment in the bilge is damaged, we're goin' ta need a new place to stow our friends here."

Jess responded just as formally, intent on doing his new position proud, but did show some concern for the two men he'd come to respect over the course of the day before. "The only secure compartment left undamaged is the smugglin' hold, sir, but that space is awfully small fer two full-grown men."

Te'Lan glanced back down at his prisoners. There was some compassion in his eyes, but his words did not reflect it. "I respect all the assistance they rendered, but I can't trust that they'd not try ta escape. They're our hostages, not guests, an' I will have those weapons. We _will_ take Port Legacy, an' I'll not let fools like Sonnal delay the fleet's schedule. Take 'em down ta the hold an' make sure ta bind 'em securely."

The new first mate did not argue. "Aye, Cap'n. I'll see to it."

Without another word, Jess and two other crewmen prodded Rodney and dragged Carson back down below decks towards the crew quarters, but stopped at the small, low overhanging entrance to the cabin. A concealed panel with removable latches was opened, and a very small, cramped, and dark compartment that was barely large enough to contain a single person hunched over, much less two, became visible.

"You can't be serious!" Rodney exclaimed as the crewmen bound his and Carson's wrists. "You can't keep us in there! It's too small. I'll go nuts!"

Jess frowned, conceding a small amount of agreement, but drew his sword reluctantly. "I'm sorry, lads. I like ya both, but ya heard the Cap'n. We can't risk not keepin' ya both secured. I hope ya understand, an' I give ya my word o' honor that I'll come for ya the moment I'm given permission."

"You ungrateful bastards," Rodney shouted, infuriated. "We go out of our way to help you out and this is how we're still treated?"

"Your actions didn't save just our lives, but your own as well," Jess sighed resignedly. "We still have ta keep ya here, I'm afraid. Ya'll just have ta deal with it."

The crewmen shoved them inside and locked the panel in place over the compartment's entrance, ignoring any further attempts Rodney made at pleading for compassion, understanding, or even a chance to relieve himself. He quieted after a few minutes, wracked with panic from the events of that night, as well as the onset of claustrophobia.

"Ye… Ye saved my life," Carson managed to whisper weakly between labored gasps as he struggled to breathe. "Where… did ye learn… ta do that?"

Rodney chuckled smugly. "I may not be a medical doctor, but artificial respiration and CPR aren't _that_ complicated for geniuses to learn."

Carson's smile widened tiredly. "Rodney?"

"What?"

"Thanks."

"Oh," Rodney said, then paused for an uncomfortable moment. "Well, you're welcome."

"Ah, Rodney…?"

"Yes, Carson?"

Carson stammered for a moment, too, almost afraid to ask. "Where's… uh… What happened ta Sonnal? I thought for sure that he'd have never let ye rescue me."

"He's dead. The captain killed him for disobeying orders."

Carson sat back against the wall with exhaustion and with his wrists bound behind him was unable to wipe away the streaks of blood that were still left on his face and dripping into his eyes. Rodney made sure he stayed propped up against the wall, though. There was no way he was going to sleep anyway, not with being stuffed into a room the size of a tiny closet and the painful bite-marks on his chest and arms. They weren't bad and weren't too numerous, though he didn't have nearly as many as Carson did. He fell into a nervous silence, trying not to hinder Carson's recovery with his claustrophobia as the walls began to press in on him.

Carson himself reflected that it was amazing he was alive at all, and without a word of complaint or protest, he fell into a restless sleep plagued with nightmares of dark pools of water, drowning, and unseen terrors that consumed his flesh one tiny bite at a time.


	10. Taking Care of Business

A/N: Those of you who dislike the Beckett-Cadman ship might not like some of the implications of this chapter, but think of it this way... In adventure stories, the hero always has to get the girl in the end. In all my stories, Carson is my hero. Draw whatever conclusions you like from that, but I've made up my mind. :)

* * *

Rodney was really, really trying not to get annoyed by Carson's incessant coughing, but it was well into the afternoon now. He was hungry and thirsty, and he'd not been able to get more than a few hours sleep all night. Of course, it might also have had some to do with the fact that the walls seemed to press in on him every time he opened his eyes and the dock workers that came and went while performing repairs on the ship, not to mention the sailors who were guarding the ship, the hold, and drinking themselves into a stupor as well. But it somehow felt easier to deal with if he thought he had someone he could blame for and gripe to about it. 

For the millionth time that day, Rodney opened his eyes long enough to shift his legs underneath him, and then immediately regretted it. He knew he was probably suffering from dehydration once more as the room not only pressed in on him but had also begun to spin with vertigo. Carson had said nothing all day and had done nothing but cough. He hadn't even moved from the spot where he'd sat against the wall the night before. This was it, he'd thought to himself. He was going to finally lose it.

"Carson…?" he whispered hoarsely, trying to keep the panic and fear out of his voice. "Carson, are you awake?"

Rodney reached out a tentative hand to feel Carson's neck for a pulse in the darkness, but it was promptly smacked away and followed by a heavy sigh. "I am now."

"Sorry," Rodney apologized weakly, willing his breathing to slow down. "I was kind of afraid you were dead."

Carson coughed again; the congestion in his chest was starting to sound worse. "Obviously, I'm not. In fact, I was resting rather peacefully 'til I was so rudely awakened."

"Well, excuse me for being concerned about whether or not you were even alive!" Rodney protested dramatically, nearly on the verge of panic. "I can't hear or see you breathing, you know. I swear, Carson, if I have to share this foul half-size closet with a dead guy that used to be my friend, I will truly and seriously lose it."

"Try to relax, Rodney," Carson tiredly tried to assure him. "I know you're claustrophobic, but allowin' yerself ta get upset is nae goin' ta help."

Rodney scowled, grunted in protest, and then shifted again, but accidentally hit his knee against a plank sticking out a bit from the wall as he moved. He yelped in pain, and then began to bang his palm against the panel that held them in the small hold. "I can't stand this any more! Let us out of here, damn it!"

Carson prodded Rodney with as much strength as he could muster. "Rodney, what the bloody hell is wrong with ye? You're goin' ta get us in trouble again!"

But the banging had obviously gotten someone's attention, and Rodney stopped beating on the panel once it became obvious that someone was in the process of unlocking it. Sunlight flooded the small compartment, blinding the occupants until one of the sailors reached inside and began to drag Carson outside. Rodney was roughly shoved back inside, and despite his loud and panicked protests, the panel was firmly replaced and relocked.

Carson clenched his eyes shut against the light, trying to give his eyes time to adjust.

"Don't worry, lad!" Jess said to Rodney with drunkenly slurred speech and a grin as the compartment was relocked. "You'll have yer chance at the ladies, too."

As he ignored Rodney's panicked protests and frantic banging against the panel, Jess slipped a friendly arm over Carson's shoulders and chuckled, sending wafts of bad breath that reeked of cheap alcohol and making him wrinkle his nose with disgust. A moment later, though, Carson managed to blink away some of his momentary blindness only to meet a sight that made his eyes go wide.

Jess seemed to sense his surprise, but seemed to interpret it as lust instead of the utter shock that it actually was and clapped him on the shoulder enthusiastically. "So it seems ya like the look o' women after all! The Cap'n left us on the ship all to our lonesome selves, so I thought I'd do you lads a favor for all yer help! Tell me plainly… Do ya have an eye for one o' these ladies?"

Carson was struck utterly speechless, so much so, in fact, that his gaze was instantly drawn back to the one woman whose face had surprised him. She was a pretty, athletic woman with strawberry-blonde hair standing next to four other women, and all of them were scantily clad in short skirts and very revealing silky blouses so loose-fitting that he suspected they could be blown away from their owners by a strong gust of wind.

Cackling with amusement, Jess pulled a few coins from his coin purse and motioned for the young woman to come over. Carson blushed from his lips all the way to his ears, turning a deep shade of crimson despite his sunburn and the cuts on his face, but it didn't faze her. One of the woman's hands roved sensually over his chest as she carefully counted the coins with the other.

They were then ushered over to the crew cabin. With Carson's wrists still bound together behind him, he was shoved inside and made to sit on a simple, low-backed chair. A moment later, the sailors to left them to their "business" in private.

With the murmur of cheerful encouragement now safely on the other side of the locked doors of the cabin, Carson sighed and spoke low so only his companion, who had delicately straddled herself across his lap, would hear. "What in the bloody hell are ye doin' here? Ye'll get yerself killed, or worse!"

Lt. Laura Cadman smirked with bemusement, leaning against his shoulder tiredly. "It's nice to see you too, Carson. Didn't I happen to mention while we were dating that I'm a US Marine and professionally trained to defend myself?"

Carson's brows furrowed with confusion and indignation. "Aye, it might've been mentioned in passing. But I would'nae put it past that lot o' brigands out there ta try an' have their way with ye regardless of yer wishes."

"Look, don't worry about me, okay?" Laura insisted with a hint of annoyance in her voice. "I've got a nice, sharp knife to defend myself with if any of them tried anything. In fact, I'd be shocked if any of those other women didn't carry one, too. But my point is, I was sent here for one mission and that was to make sure you two were here. We traded a lot of our supplies for the information that led me here, you know."

He never could win arguments with her. "So how do ye plan to get out o' here now that ye've found us?"

"Time is money. I doubt they'll want to keep us around for too long." Laura smiled wanly, but paused for a moment when Carson didn't seem all that reassured. "What's the matter? You don't think they have some kind of ulterior motive for kidnapping you, do you?"

"O' course they do," he assured her grimly. "They're planning on meetin' up with a fleet tae attack some place called Port Legacy, an' they're holdin' us hostage ta get the advanced weapons ta do it."

"What's so special about this 'Port Legacy' place?"

Carson shook his head. "I don't know."

"Well," she sighed, "I suppose it might be enough to get the port-master to help us. He was being uncooperative because he wanted the bounty on Captain Te'Lan for himself."

"Whatever yer goin' ta do, lass, ye need ta do it fast. Repairs on the ship are supposed ta be finished by mornin'."

"Right," Laura said, then leaned close. "But it will still be a little while before they come back for us. You don't think they're watching us, do you?"

Carson's eyes went wide. "Good Lord, I hope not! Ye don't really think they expect us ta... ye know...?"

Laura pondered the thought, smiling shyly. "I would think so."

* * *

John Sheppard ran a hand through his disheveled hair and took a moment to stretch out a few kinks in his neck. The sun had just set, leaving hues of violet, red, and blue across the horizon that met with the water. It had been longer than he cared to admit since he'd had a good nights rest, but he was determined not to stop looking for his friends. After all, he knew they'd do the same for him. 

The search had not progressed well after they'd gotten their first lead at the brothel. Since negotiating a price for the information they'd been given, they'd even been offered free accommodation for the night if they wished to wait around for Captain Te'Lan to show up, but Henry had insisted that 'cracking a teacup' was not the act of a gentleman, whatever that meant. So their search had continued through the day and night and had led him into the streets of the merchant's quarter. The shop he stood in front of that very moment was the last one on that block, and though he knew it was likely that the merchant inside would give him the same answer as everyone else, he saw no choice but to try it.

Pushing the door firmly open, Ronon, Teyla, Lorne, and Henry followed him inside. The shop belonged to a local sutler, a merchant that traded in ship's supplies and manual labor in the form of dock-workers, and the man behind the counter looked up from his task for only a moment when they entered.

John cleared his throat. "We're looking from some friends of ours and were wondering if you've seen any strangers around, strangers who were waylaid by pirates."

The merchant still did not look up at him, and spoke flatly without a hint of emotion. "Strangers pass through this port every day. Some were waylaid, some not."

"I have pictures," John said hopefully, opening up his pocket to retrieve them.

But the merchant didn't even look. "Sorry, ain't seen 'em."

"Alright," he said, trying not to let his frustration show in his voice. "How about a man named Te'Lan, Captain Te'Lan. Have you seen him?"

"Sorry, but it's gettin' late an' I'm about to close up me shop," came the annoyed reply. "Were ya 'bout ta buy somethin'?"

John shook his head wearily. "Sorry we wasted your time."

Watching attentively as the strangers left his shop and moved on, the merchant hurriedly put on his cloak, locked up his shop, and left. Moving quietly through the darkening alleys, he made sure he wasn't being followed and secretly made his way toward the rows of pubs, which were more often frequented by sailors of varying reputation, that were scattered along the outskirts between the docks and the outlying neighborhoods. One of them in particular was his destination.

Stepping inside, he didn't bother shedding his cloak and made his way toward a secluded table in the back where he found the man he knew would be there. Captain Te'Lan looked up from his game of cards, his pleased expression shifting to curiosity and finally concern.

"Elrak," he said respectfully as he extended his arm in greeting. "I wasn't expectin' ta see ya again 'til tomorrow morning. Not worried about receivin' yer payment on time, are ya?"

"No, sir," the merchant, Elrak, said nervously, then sat down at the table. "But I had some strangers stop by me shop an' they asked if I knew anythin' about ya. Word has it they been askin' about ya all over the port. Didn'a look as if they'd been told anythin', but only the sea witches know fer sure."

"Who were they?" Te'Lan asked just barely loud enough for the merchant to hear. "Soldiers from Gulran or bounty hunters, perhaps?"

"I'm not sure," the merchant answered honestly. "They was wearin' uniforms, but not colors o' Gulran, of that I'm sure."

Captain Te'Lan's eyes narrowed, and then he smiled and shook his head. "I think I remember 'em. If they know anythin', they're persistent fellers, I'll give 'em that. But I'd best make sail quickly, just in case. Are the repairs to my ship done?"

The merchant smiled politely, all business. "Aye, Cap'n. The jury mast is set an' the other repairs ye can finish while yer at sea. A couple o' me lads'll be willin' ta go with ya ta make sure."

The pirate captain drew a very heavy coin purse from his pocket and tossed it to the merchant, who squealed with delight and greed. He didn't even have to bother counting it to know it was more than he'd hoped.

"Let's go, lads," Te'Lan said cheerily to his officers at the table, who had already begun emptying their pockets and coin purses to pay their tabs. "Best be shovin' off before dawn."


	11. Deal With the Devil

It wasn't too long before Jess and his comrades became, drunk, loud, and rowdy enough to be quite easily heard through the thin wood plank walls of the crew cabin, giving the room's two occupants just enough warning before the door was thrown open. 

"It's been mighty quiet in here," Jess slurred as he offered a toothy grin, nearly tripping over the lip of the door frame while his comrades surged forward unsteadily and hauled Carson to his feet. "I might wonder if ya'd gotten 'round ta properly enjoyin' the lady's company yet, but I'm afraid there's no more time. The Cap'n is on his way back, so we've got ta stow ya."

Laura did not hesitate in her attempt to quickly join the ladies that were now making their way along the gangway that led off the ship as Carson was literally tossed back into the cubby-hole that was laughingly referred to as a smuggler's hold, but one of the drunken sailors had another idea. He was filthy, skinny, bald, and toothless, and as he smiled at her provocatively, his proximity and open mouth afforded Laura a whiff of the most putrid stench she had ever smelled. It was all she could do to keep herself from gagging in disgust.

Fingering a few coins in a purse that hung heavily from his belt, he took a small step closer, slipping a greedy hand around her waist. "Surely a pretty lady like yerself has a few more minutes ta spare for wealthy sailors like us…"

One of the women who'd come with Laura stopped at the end of the gangplank and looked back at Laura with concern, but was promptly pushed aside by Captain Te'Lan himself, who strode purposefully back to his ship. Laura gave the sailor a stern look as she addressed him, then turned to walk around him. "Not for you, I'm afraid."

The response incensed him, and he snarled grudgingly as he tightened his grip on her waist. "Ungrateful whore! I was about ta pay ya up front!"

Laura promptly thrust her elbow into his gullet, followed by the palm of her hand into his face, then jumped over the gunwalls into the water before the drunken sailors could move far enough to assist their comrade. A round of raucous laughter echoed through the night air as she surfaced and struggled to climb up onto the pier, graciously helped by the woman who'd stayed behind for her.

Captain Te'Lan's jovial face peered down over the ledge at her for a moment, and she could just barely make out his words, wringing the water out of her clothing as she ran.

"Rejected even by a whore; Keilin, boy, ye sure have a bad run o' luck with the ladies."

* * *

John sat idly next to Major Lorne on a pallet behind a warehouse of shipped goods as he watched Teyla and Henry rest with their backs against the building. It was cold, the last full day before Captain Te'Lan's deadline was nearing its end, and he felt like he had nothing to show for it. He'd allowed Lt. Cadman to volunteer for what had seemed like a suicide mission, and if by some chance they recognized her, he couldn't help but worry that he might've sent her to meet a horrible death. 

Sighing softly, he knew there was nothing more to be done other than to wait. He hated waiting. Ronon hated it as much as he did, and he paced the length of the small alley with the same frustration and impatience that John himself felt.

When the distinct sound of footfalls echoed down the empty street next to the alley once more, John peered around the corner at the makers of the sounds and was relieved to find that it was indeed whom he had hoped. Laura Cadman strode toward them quickly and anxiously, accompanied by the kind and down-on-her-luck woman she had befriended at the brothel.

She took a moment to catch her breath, and then reported. Her companion nodded eagerly in affirmation. "They're on the ship, sir, both of them."

It was exactly what they'd been waiting to hear, and an instant later, Teyla, Ronon, and Henry were all standing at John's side, ready to go.

"Alright," John said with a small smile of approval. "Let's get back down to the docks. Lieutenant, show us the dock where the ship is moored. We've got to rescue Carson and Rodney before those pirates decide to leave the port."

But they had failed to notice the new set of footsteps that had been slowly echoing down the alley, approaching steadily, and when John turned to lead his team out of the alley and toward the docks, he nearly collided with a tall, muscular, and balding man dressed in an alien-looking green uniform and armed with a primitive pistol. John's hands slowly fell away from his weapon, and the rest of his team followed suit.

More men in similar uniforms entered the alley behind and in front of them, and a moment later, one more man stepped from the shadows of the building across the street, strolling casually with a laid-back and unconcerned gait. As he steadily strode closer, John recognized him as the port-master they'd met days ago.

Unfazed by the show of force, John gazed at him indifferently. "What do you want? We're kind of in a hurry."

"You're not in a position to be askin' the questions," the port-master sneered authoritatively, coming to a stop directly in front of John. He was only a couple of inches shorter, but returned his gaze equally as confident. "Word has it that ya've been botherin' good, hard-workin' folk in this port with questions ya shouldn't be askin'. I've even gotten a few complaints."

John tried hard not to roll his eyes with his contempt for the man. "Well, no one else seemed to be bothering to do any investigating into the matter of our missing friends, so I thought we'd do some investigating of our own. It can't be illegal to ask a few people some questions."

"Now that depends on what ya've found," the port-master stated with a greedy smirk. "Me boys here have been followin' ya for a while now, an' they tell me ya been in business with that disreputable house on the west side o' the docks. I think that pretty sum ya paid them was for information. I want Te'Lan. You want yer friends back. Ya don't really think that just the five o' ya can overpower a ship manned with dozens o' seasoned pirates, do ya?"

Ronon grinned happily, grabbing the nearest uniformed henchman by the tunic and disarming him in less than a second. "If they're anything like you, they don't seem so tough to me."

Holding out a hand in an attempt to urge Ronon to restrain himself, John considered the port-master's words suspiciously. "And if we tell you what we know, what then?"

The port-master grinned, baring his crooked and missing teeth. "With yer advanced weapons an' the man-power at my disposal, we can both have what we want. So, what do ya say? Shall we work together?"

John watched the port-master outstretched his hand to shake on the deal, but Ronon promptly pulled him aside to whisper in his ear. "I don't trust him. We don't need them."

"Normally, I'd tend to agree," he replied softly so as not to be heard by anyone else. "But if we don't give him Te'Lan, I think they'll be seriously unhappy with us. Who knows what they'd do just out of spite."

The team watched as John slowly reached out to grasp the port-master's hand. His team watched as the two leaders sealed the deal with the handshake, and they were unanimously and unarguably positive that it may very well be the biggest mistake they'd ever made.

* * *

Rodney had managed to calm down a bit since Carson had been tossed back inside the hold with him, but the waves of panic and the spikes of adrenaline coursing through his veins didn't cease. They could hear the repairs to the ship being completed, could hear board planks being put into place and nails being hammered, and with each cessation of noise, they knew that they were one task closer to leaving the port once more. 

Carson had told him in a hushed tone of his visit with Laura and how she was going to try to summon some help for them, but even that wasn't enough to completely deter Rodney's anxiety. Claustrophobia was just one of those irrational fears that were too stubborn to be rid of easily.

Time passed slowly, and after what Carson was positive had been at least two hours, the anxiously stressed shouting voices rose louder over the noises of the work that was being done on the ship. Attempting to peer through a tiny crack in the door panel at what was going on, Carson thought he saw the slightest hints of light streaking across the dark violet night sky and saw sailors hurriedly drawing lines and rigging, preparing the ship to depart the port.

His heart sank. They were making the ship ready to leave already! Where was the help that Laura had promised would come?

"What's going on?" Rodney whispered softly, anxiously trying futilely to find a crack of his own to peer through. "I can't see anything."

"They're makin' the ship ready ta sail," Carson replied lowly, unable to keep the fear and disappointment from his voice completely. "I cannae hear what they're sayin'."

Just as Carson caught a glimpse of the sail being raised up the new jury-rigged mast, men ran to and fro across his narrow field of vision and a body suddenly slammed against the wall of the compartment they were being kept in, startling them. Rodney was so surprised that he hit the crown of his head against the short ceiling of the hold. Clutching at his head and trying to rub away some of the sting, Rodney began to bang at the panel of the door again with panic.

Carson didn't try to stop him and instead tried to focus on identifying the person who'd just collapsed. The man was wearing a green uniform, not dissimilar in design to the uniforms of the sailors in blue that had attacked the ship while they'd been at sea. He could only surmise that it was another enemy attack. Could this be the rescue that Laura had promised?

A pool of dark blood that had formed next to the dead man began to trickle under the door onto the low floor of the smuggler's hold, and Rodney shrank back into the corner, gagging and coughing with disgust and fear. Sailors who had been tightening and tying off rigging began to draw swords, pistols, and belaying pins to defend the ship from the attackers as the ship itself slowly began to move.

The resounding noise of the gangplank falling away from the ship into the water echoed through the compartment while Carson struggled to see more. But seconds stretched into minutes, and the sounds of fighting, shouting, firing, and the clanging of swords faded. The moans of wounded men and the sickeningly sweet smell of blood leeched through the panel.

The latch was then unexpectedly unlocked, and the two prisoners were hauled out. The ropes binding their wrists behind them were cut, and then Carson and Rodney were fully exposed to the gruesome sight that lay before them. Disemboweled men in green uniforms and pirate clothing alike littered the decks, along with sliced limbs and the scattered remains of their entrails. A few bloodied crewmen moaned with the pain of their injuries, and Rodney once more flung himself over to the gunwalls to empty what bile remained in his stomach.

The port in which their rescue was supposed to have occurred was far away on the distant horizon and in mere moments would be completely gone from sight. Rodney sighed, sinking to his knees on the deck, and nearly cried with frustration while Carson silently retrieved alcohol, the fresh supply of linen bandages, and the set of surgeon's knives from the space in which they'd been stowed in the crew cabin, then solemnly went to work patching up the men that he could save from a gruesome death at sea.

Captain Te'Lan had stayed this time, though, and hovered warily behind Carson while he worked. Carson said nothing, not even a word of thanks when the captain moved to help restrain a few of the men who were delirious with pain. Carson moved with the efficiency and competency with which he'd been trained, but without emotion or the aura of compassion and sympathy that usually came so naturally to him.

He simply could not bear the void of darkness that grew in his heart when he thought about the men he was treating. Forcing himself not to feel compassion for the patients he was treating was one of the most horrible things he'd ever been expected to do during his time as CMO of Atlantis. If there was one aspect of his duty that he found hard to bear, it was that.

Sneaking a glance over at Rodney, Carson paused for a moment and then looked down at his hands. They were covered in blood, his patient's blood, and he knew the man would die if he did not continue. But there was one thing that Carson valued more than his duty or his guilt or even his own life, and that was Rodney's life. He would not be a man who let his friend down, not at any cost.


	12. Time's Up

A/N: This chapter may be a tad disturbing for some readers as it involves a wee bit of violence directed toward one of our boys, so don't say I didn't provide a bit of warning. On this world, there is no such thing as human rights, decency, or the Geneva Convention.

* * *

Colonel Sheppard languidly limped across the length of the pier, favoring his right leg as he walked. One of the pirates had clipped him by the knee with a sword, and the wound had bled copiously, but he'd managed to stop the bleeding with a tourniquet from a medical kit. Ronon had nearly managed to fight his way the entire length of the ship before the sails had been raised high enough for the ship to begin moving, but had been forced to leap back to the pier before reaching the compartment that Lt. Cadman had attempted to show them. 

They'd been forced to wait nearly an hour while the port-master summoned a force of men large enough to successfully raid the pirate ship, it was all too obvious that they'd waited too long. The pirates had seemed to know that they were coming and were preparing to shove off even before the fighting had begun. John had cursed under his breath at his foolishness in trusting that the port-master knew what he was doing as they struggled to fight their way to the ship before it was too late, but its crew had been far too well-prepared, almost as if they'd known that soldiers had been coming to arrest them.

Nearly the entire band of conscripted men had died at the hands of the pirates anyway, though. The uniformed bodies of soldiers floated in the water and lay at their feet, and the port-master himself seethed at the humiliating failure. The port-master, having delegated the task of tending to the dead to one of his assistants, promptly spun on his heels and began to walk away, barking orders to his men to summon every available ship captain in Gulran's fleet now present in the docks.

When Lt. Cadman had told him of Captain Te'Lan's plan to join a fleet that would attack a place called Port Legacy, his eyes had gone wide with shock and disbelief, and he'd then rushed in a panic to mobilize every officer and soldier in the port that he could find. To John, the effort had been pathetic at best; without a reliable means of communications, such efforts were disorganized and uncoordinated at best. As far as he could tell, these people hadn't even developed a municipal system of mail yet and still relied on personally hired carriers and messengers, or even scuttlebutt, to deliver their news.

Amazingly enough, though, John was surprised at how quickly a fleet of dozens of ships had been formed, with dozens more still waiting to send acknowledgements. John had quietly followed the port-master onto the deck of the ship that would be under his command, which was small, light-weight, and built for speed, while he waited for the final acknowledgements from the rest of the fleet of now over eighty ships to depart. John stood by patiently on the deck, dodging rushed crewmen, ducking under ropes, and instructed the rest of his team to get some more help from Atlantis while the port-master did his best to reassure John that they would leave as soon as humanly possible.

Doing a double take as he glanced back at John, the port-master frowned, somehow only just then having noticed that Colonel Sheppard and Henry were the only two of their group that remained on the ship. "Where are the others?"

John's reply was vague and he knew it would annoy the port-master, but he was unwilling to reveal the existence of the Puddle-Jumper to him quite yet. "They're staying behind to summon more help."

"How foolish," he harrumphed with displeasure, turning his attention back to his checklist of preparations. "We need all the men and weaponry we can get, and you go and send your people off somewhere else?"

"That pirate's deadline was up this morning," John argued, scowling impatiently at the port-master as they continued to wait. "Each hour that we wait puts our friends in even more danger, and I don't intend to leave them just sitting around and waiting."

The port-master scowled right back at him. "I did ya a favor last night despite my better judgment, but seein' as though I can still use yer help, I'll enlighten ya. Port Legacy is Gulran's central port, an' if we lost it ta the enemy, it'd cripple our navy. There's no way that Te'Lan could possibly raid it with less than three-hundred ships, so I'm takin' command o' the eastern fleet to intercept Te'Lan an' defend the port. An' don't think I won't hesitate to gut all of ya on the spot if yer lyin' about this."

John said no more, desiring not to push his luck lest the port-master decide to remove them from the ship. He and his team could do no more except to sit and wait until the port-master was ready to make chase. He still couldn't help wondering if maybe it'd be better to try to find Carson and Rodney using the Puddle-Jumper, but memories of being shot down some time back on that world with the penal colony by the Stargate were too fresh in his mind. He wasn't fond of the prospect of crashing and sinking into the water, either, especially without McKay.

No, they would just have to rely on the port-master for now, as foolish as that might seem. John sat down and settled back against the ledge of the gunwalls. It had been too long since he'd had a chance to get some rest.

* * *

Carson dozed lightly in the shade of the shadow cast by the ship's forecastle, or rather in what little shade remained of its shadow. The sun of that world had risen quite high in the sky, and its rays were beating down mercilessly on the ship and its occupants. The air was thick with the taste of salty seawater, making it difficult to breathe because the sheer amount of moisture. The day had grown unusually hot, and the crew had remained atypically quiet over the course of the morning. They'd lost a number of good men to the enemy attack at the port that morning, and no one was really in the mood for any more conversation than was necessary. 

Rodney slept next to him, his bare back striped with black lines from the tar that sealed the hull of the ship, and his face was buried deep within the depths of his arms as the sun beat down on him. The sun had been burning his back for days now, turning it, his arms, and his face a darker complexion as the skin began to peel. The crew cabin had been far too hot to rest in, so they'd sought shade on the main deck in the cooler breeze that blew over the water.

Jess and the crew had only been obliging enough to give them a few hours of rest before waking them, though. Captain Te'Lan had bellowed an order from the privacy of his quarters and then Jess and two others were hauling Carson and Rodney to their feet. Dragging them to the front of the ship and up a short set of steps to meet the captain, the two crewmen bound their wrists behind them once more. They were brought into the captain's quarters and forced to sit in chairs facing the captain.

It was a relatively spartan room by the standards Rodney and Carson were used to, but unlike the crew cabin, it actually had a few pieces of furniture and was scattered with papers and maps. A spyglass and a large nautical map sat on the desk between them and the Captain, but he was looking at them. Te'Lan's eyes were securely fixed on Rodney and did not waver. Rodney squirmed under the scrutinizing gaze, and Carson tried not to be intimidated.

"You lads already know about the attack this mornin'," Te'Lan began impassively. "If ya haven't already guessed, yer friends are late payin' yer ransom. An' if I'm ta remain a man o' my word, I'm now obligated ta kill ya both."

Rodney stopped squirming, and neither he nor Carson made a move or sound to acknowledge what had just been stated.

Te'Lan continued unabated by their lack of reaction. "However, I may be convinced ta forego that obligation fer the time bein' if ya cooperate in the manner that I require. What I'll be requirin' of ya first is information. Yer friends were fightin' along side our enemy this mornin', an' I'll not allow their weapons ta fall into enemy hands without havin' their secrets. So yer going ta tell me everythin' ya know. I'll wager that you, McKay, know enough ta satisfy me for the moment."

Rodney looked up curiously, meeting his interrogator's eyes. It was the first time that Te'Lan had ever used his name. "You can't possibly believe that I'm going tell you anything that you could use against our friends."

"Don't be foolish, lad," Te'Lan said with a hint of annoyance. "I'm a man who gets what he wants, an' if yer of no use ta me, there's no reason for me ta keep ya alive now, is there?"

Te'Lan waited a moment to gauge their reactions as Rodney scoffed and shut his mouth, seeming genuinely surprised that they would even dare to think he was bluffing. But he waited for only a moment, and with a motion of his finger, one of the crewmen who'd brought the prisoners inside stepped forward. "Keilin, take out yer knife an' make the good doctor here scream."

Rodney's eyes went wide, his lips began to tremble, and his face blanched with dread, but he said nothing as the sailor drew a long, razor-sharp knife from his belt and pressed it against Carson's neck without hesitation. Carson drew a sharp breath.

"Rodney," Carson began softly, "ye cannae give 'im what he wants. I want ye tae turn yer face an' ignore anythin' they do tae me."

Te'Lan offered a terse nod to the crewman's questioning look, then sat back in his chair and folded his arms, remaining reserved and patient despite the show of resistance.

He tried to do as Carson asked. He even clenched his eyes shut and feigned ignorance, but he couldn't ignore the grunts of pain that echoed in his ears with the telltale sounds of the scraping of flesh, which were followed by a painful yelp. Then another… and another… until Carson screamed.

Rodney tried to think of something, anything, to blot out the images that flooded his mind and would've done almost anything to be anywhere else at that very moment. But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he pulled at the rope binding his wrists in an effort to cover his ears, he couldn't block out the sound of Carson's suffering.

Carson's painful cries filled the cabin and his ears, and Rodney didn't dare open his eyes, no matter how hard he flinched at the sound. There had to be something that he could do, something that his genius could come up with to stop this. Should he lie? Would the captain know if he lied? Should he let Carson die? Was it really worth it?

Minutes stretched on, and then there was suddenly silence. Rodney still didn't dare open his eyes to look at Carson, and he still felt Te'Lan's gaze boring into his skull.

The captain's voice resounded solidly through the small space of the room, unfazed and unperturbed by the violence directed at Carson. "I'd like ta know first why the lead shots in yer weapons aren't round like ours are."

Rodney couldn't let his friend down, and kept his eyes and mouth firmly clenched shut. Nearly a full minute passed before he heard Te'Lan shift in his chair, the first real sign of impatience he exhibited.

"Keilin here was a friend o' Sonnal an' Nerry," Te'Lan said flatly and unemotionally, nodding to the crewman again. "He's a good lad, but I think he's rather enjoyin' the task o' makin' yer friend suffer."

Carson cried out with pain again. It continued until Rodney just couldn't take it any more. These pirates didn't care about either of them – what difference would it make to Te'Lan if he had his henchmen continue slicing up Carson's flesh until an artery or vein was struck and finally caused him to bleed to death? All Te'Lan cared about was having his way, and if Rodney couldn't give him something, anything, Carson was going to die.

"Aerodynamics…"

Te'Lan leaned forward, holing up a hand to hold the crewman's knife. "What was that, lad? Explain."

Rodney inhaled sharply, eyes still closed; despite every effort, he failed to completely keep his voice from cracking. "Aerodynamics – the bullet's shape increases the weapon's accuracy."

"I see," the captain said softly; his eyes were still fixed on Rodney. "Keilin, ya may return ta yer duties."

Slowly opening his eyes to make sure that the offending crewman was really leaving, Rodney could not help staring at the cuts. Carson panted heavily with exertion, his forehead creased with the pain of the dozens of deep cuts on his chest and both his shoulders. More than pain was in his eyes, though. Shame at being used to manipulate Rodney filled him, making him tremble with exhaustion and anger. Blood ran in streaks down his arms and dripped carelessly on the floor.

"Don't," Carson urged weakly, his head lolling forward with strain.

The captain had to respect Rodney's apparent resolve, which seemed to be renewed a bit by Carson's insistence, but he simply sighed, as if bored, and opened a drawer. Pulling out one of the two pistols that he'd confiscated from them, he flipped off the safety and placed it on the desk.

"No more games," Te'Lan stated matter-of-factly. "Start talkin' or I kill ya both, yer friend first."

There was nothing else to be done.

"What else do you want to know?"


	13. That Sinking Feeling

No other day in Carson's life had ever passed so slowly. Rodney had told Te'Lan anything and everything he wanted to know, and he had even been prompted to draw figures on a few tattered scraps of paper. Their interrogation had lasted hours and hours, and Carson had not muttered one word the entire time, not even after they were escorted back to the now-repaired bilge space where they'd spent their first night on the ship. Rodney, who was still wracked with claustrophobic fears even in the slightly larger room, would not say a word to him either. Whether he felt worse about giving in to the pirate captain or for failing to ignore his friend's screams of pain, Carson could not be sure, but the utter silence cut into him almost as deeply as Keilin's knife had. 

Days passed, more interrogating preceded each meal they were given, and although he didn't volunteer the information, Rodney continued to tell Te'Lan about anything he wanted to know, such as weapons, ships, and even the system of Stargates like the one that orbited their world; none of it was beyond the scope of his curiosity. Carson remained silent as he watched and listened, helpless to stop the pirate captain from using him to threaten Rodney for whatever information he desired. The crew had even stopped locking the door to the bilge where they slept; there was no point to it. Where could they possibly escape to in the middle of the ocean?

It was late in the morning on their fourth day out of port when they were awakened by the sound of raucous laughter above on the main deck, but no one stood in the entrance waiting to haul them to their feet, nor was anyone preparing to punish or abuse them. A tough hunk of stale bread and a pitcher of water had been left for them for breakfast, and no demands or threats had been made. They ate and drank as quickly as their stomachs would accept the meager meal, and only then risked leaving the relative safety of their makeshift sleeping quarters.

Carson slowly peeked around the corner that led up and out onto the main deck and was surprised by what he saw. Literally hundreds of ships dotted the waters around them, sails furled at stationkeeping, and the crew was gathered on the deck. They were carousing and waiting for further orders. A hand suddenly fell onto Carson's sore shoulder, startling them both.

They spun around, hearts racing. Jess stood next to them, his old and weathered face plastered with a wide grin.

"So you lads finally came 'round ta joinin' us," Jess said as he laughed amiably, then prodded them forward. "C'mon, we're waitin' on the cap'n ta give his speech."

Rodney and Carson were shoved out onto the deck, quickly finding themselves immersed in the celebration and laughter, but within moments the noise hushed to silence and they followed the crew's gazes up toward the captain, who had just emerged from his quarters in the forecastle with three other men who were even better dressed than he. They stood aside as Te'Lan prepared to address his crew.

He cleared his throat, speaking confidently and regally. "Lads, tomorrow will be a day long remembered in the history o' this world. Rumaarian fleets from all six regions have gathered here ta crush our common enemy once an' for all, an' we're goin' ta lead it. I've been appointed command o' this fleet, an' I intend ta raze Port Legacy ta the ground right after we raid their treasury."

The crew cheered jubilantly, earning a smile from Te'Lan, who continued in earnest. "We've lost some good friends, and we mourn for their loss. We may lose more yet still, but tomorrow we're goin' ta bring our enemies ta their knees, an' we'll be sailin' home rich men."

Another round of cheers nearly deafened them, but it died down quickly as one desperate voice rose above the others. "Ahoy! Ships on the horizon ta starboard, sir!"

It was the lookout who had been diligently keeping watch in the crow's nest. Heads looked up and about to peer along the horizon of water in the distance, but it was not immediately clear what was going on.

"Rumaarian colors, late-comers ta the fleet?" Te'Lan asked hesitantly.

"No, sir!" the lookout replied anxiously. "They're flyin' colors o' Gulran! There's hundreds of 'em!"

Te'Lan immediately jumped into action and the men that had gathered on the deck scattered, leaving Carson and Rodney standing precariously in the middle of a stampede of crewmen rushing to perform their duties as quickly as possible. The captain spouted orders. "Hail the fleet! Send out orders ta make sail due north as quickly as possible! We can't let 'em surround us between here an' the port!"

When everyone had their tasks and the fleet captains had left to go back to their own ships, Te'Lan pulled out a spyglass to assess the enemy fleet advancing on them. The two off-worlders had nothing to do but watch.

"Those ships spell bad news for us, lads," Te'Lan said softly as he peered out at the enemy fleet, then put his spyglass away and stalked closer, looking Carson straight in the eye. "I'd venture ta guess that someone told 'em our plan. Now, no one among my crew would be that foolish. But you, on the other hand…"

Carson did not flinch from the captain's gaze, but Rodney's eyes darted back and forth between him and the captain nervously, which gave the pirate more than enough of a hint that his assumption was well-founded and more than likely correct. Te'Lan smiled with cruel amusement, relishing the fear that emanated from the two off-worlders with each bead of sweat that dripped down their sunburned faces, and then with one swift movement backhanded Carson across the jaw. "Consider yerselves lucky that I still might have some use for ya as hostages. Otherwise, I'd gut ya both where ya stand."

Carson's ears rang, his vision momentarily turning a dark shade of purple as Rodney struggled to pick him up off the deck and out of range of the captain's wrath. Several red welts had been left on his jaw where the pirate's rings had left indentations, and he could taste bitter grittiness between his teeth, indicative of blood and possibly even a chipped tooth. The cuts on his shoulders throbbed with infection, too. Anger began welling up within him, and it dampened out a bit of the pain.

They watched helplessly as the sails were quickly unfurled and the ship began to turn with the rest of the fleet, moving against the natural currents of the water and swiftly turned to a northerly course. But the fleet of ships that was pursuing them was not lost; in fact, they continued to steadily gain more distance, if only for a few minutes until the ship reached its top speed. After that, they remained a steady and still a despairingly significant distance away toward the southern horizon.

Rodney propped Carson up against the gunwalls, hoping he had enough sense to hold on tight enough. He didn't have the strength left to support him, and with the ship's speed came the familiar sensation of vertigo and the nausea that incessantly accompanied it. "If Cadman expects a good performance review from my department next month, this had better be part of that big rescue plan you told me about."

* * *

"The chase is making full sail, sir," reported an officer as he watched the fleet of pirates through a spyglass from the fore of the ship. 

"They've seen us," the port-master stated with annoyance as John squinted just to make out the shapes of individual ships out on the horizon in front of them, but his frown was smoothed by confidence. "If they really think they're going to outrun us, they're even more foolish than I thought."

"But sir," the boatswain asked hesitantly, "they have ta be leadin' us in ta the Haunted Straits. Te'Lan may be fearless, but I ain't."

The port-master spun on his heel, radiating annoyance and frustration once more as he jabbed an accusing finger toward the man. "Superstitious nonsense! Where Te'Lan goes, we will follow. I'll not allow that fleet to attack Port Legacy! Make the chase guns ready an' prepare ta fire on my order!"

John turned sharply to protest. "Now wait a minute! Our friends are still on that ship. Opening fire will put their lives at risk."

"I'm not about ta risk lettin' Te'Lan escape," the port-master sneered as he fixed his gaze on the enemy fleet at the northern horizon. "I'm goin' ta destroy that fleet, an' I intend ta have his head as a trophy."

"We had a deal," John insisted angrily, bringing his weapon to bear at the port-master threateningly. "You out-number them almost three-to-one. At least try to negotiate for their surrender!"

The port-master exploded with fury, then drew his pistol and aimed it at John despite the inferiority of his weapon. "Soldiers o' Gulran don't negotiate with pirates!"

A stand-off would have ensued if John had not been distinctly aware of the sound of gun hammers being cocked around him. A large number of the crew had come to the port-master's defense and had pistols and rifles aimed at his heart.

John suddenly felt Henry's back touching his own, heard him gulp nervously, and could only assume that there were more crewmen behind him. Rather than needlessly waste their lives, he slowly unclasped his P90 from his tac vest and lowered it to the deck without taking his eyes off of the port-master. The pistol was then lowered, and the crewmen that had their guns trained on him had seized his weapon and both his and Henry's arms.

"Give me his weapon," the port-master ordered, and then one of the crewmen handed him John's P90.

The weapon's operation was simple enough to be figured out just as the first volley of cannons at the bow of the ship were fired. The port-master grinned happily, gazing at his newest acquisition with delight. "'Tis a very fine weapon indeed. It'll come in handy in the future o' the war effort. Command will be pleased."

"Sir," the boatswain reported again. "The enemy fleet is stopping. I think they're turning ta fight."

All eyes focused on the horizon in the direction of the enemy fleet, which had slowed in a small area of shallow water. The shadowy depths seemed to be hazy and misty, making it difficult to see where the horizon far in the distance stopped and the sky began, and yet it somehow sparkled at the same time despite the relative abundance of clouds in the sky that masked out the sun. John could well imagine that the area the sailors had called 'The Haunted Strait' could have been named for this reason alone.

The port-master grinned again eccentrically and turned his back on John. "Fire all guns as soon as we're in range."

* * *

"Ha!" Te'Lan chortled confidently, seemingly unaffected by the stresses of impending combat with a fleet that easily outnumbered his. He'd pulled his spyglass out again and had apparently found something of interest with it, so thus decided to seek out Rodney and Carson to gloat. Leaning down over them as they sat back against the gunwalls, he grinned. "This day just keeps gettin' worse for ya, doesn't it? I thought ya might like ta know that I caught a glimpse o' yer friends on the Gulran flagship, an' they appear ta be prisoners. How foolish of 'em ta try ta strike a deal with Gulran instead o' just payin' the ransom. At least I'm a man o' my word, which is more than I can say for them." 

"Ye lyin' bastard," Carson muttered angrily, trying to push himself up to unsteady feet, but was held back by Rodney's firm grip. Recklessly asking for more punishment would get them nowhere.

Te'Lan chuckled with amusement and rocked back on the balls of his feet without a care. "Me, lie? The truth is far too satisfying. See fer yourselves, if ya don't believe me. The flagship is the one that just fired on us, so best keep yer heads down."

One lucky shot splintered a gaping hole in the gunwalls at the bow of the ship, knocking two cannons and several men over the edge into the water, and yet Te'Lan still smiled. Crewmen scampered across the deck, preparing the cannons that faced the enemy to fire as quickly as humanly possible, but they waited patiently for the captain's order to do so. Soon, another gaping hole had been blown in the hull, and another ship in the fleet began to break apart and sink.

"Steady, lads!" Te'Lan yelled when some of the younger sailors began to look twitchy. "Wait for it!"

Rodney and Carson knelt under cover of the capstan for the anchor and waited, dreading the moment that was about to come when Te'Lan would tell them that the ship their friends were on had sunk into the sea.

* * *

"Why haven't they returned fire yet?" the port-master asked aloud, but none of his officers had an answer. He hadn't really expected one, but he didn't like not knowing if his opponent might have a strategy he didn't expect. If there was one thing worse than dying at the hands of a pirate, it was losing to one. He spun around on his heel to pace the small length of the bow of his ship impatiently and decided he didn't want to look bad in front of prisoners. "Chain the prisoners in the cargo hold." 

But just a few moments after the crewmen holding John and Henry had left to comply with their orders, blazing flashes of light lit up the sky to the south and west of the fleet. A cacophony of explosions barraged his ears moments later as a swarm of cannonballs filled the sky above. Then another barrage of cannon-fire erupted to the north, from Te'Lan's fleet, following a second later.

Hundreds more pirate ships had gathered and waited in the hidden mists of the Haunted Straits, waiting for just that moment to open fire on the vulnerable sides of the Gulran fleet.

The port-master watched death fall from the sky in the form of hundreds of cannonballs being fired almost as one. He'd been outmaneuvered.

The hull was pierced so forcefully and so rapidly that wood splintered in all directions, instantly killing nearly everyone who had been stationed on the main deck, including the port-master himself. Within minutes, the only remaining life on the ship was the prisoners in the cargo hold and those of the crew that had been sent to chain them.

The crewmen who had performed this duty had hardly had a chance to finish before the ship began to break up around them. They fled for their lives, attempting to swim through the water that now gushed in a torrent through huge gaps in the hull, but few made it out into the open water without being fatally sliced by shrapnel or splintered wood from the hull.

John and Henry struggled and pulled to no avail against the chains that bound them to what was once the ship's inner hull. Sea water gushed and bubbled around them, and within seconds, the hold had completely flooded. The remains of the ship slowly sank below the surface of the sea, finally breaking apart and settling in a heap on the shallow sea floor, there to rest and rot away for eternity.


	14. Deep Trouble

The Gulran fleet had been utterly decimated. Not a single ship had remained intact enough to even have a chance to get away from the devastation; the sheer destructive power of hundreds of ships firing their cannons on differing sides had been far too much for them, and now only fragments of wood, shredded pieces of canvas sails, and the bodies of the dead floated in the relatively still, shimmering waters. A salvage operation was currently underway to see if anything left of the enemy fleet could be of any use, but the few survivors that had been found were brutally murdered.

No matter how hard he searched the waters as he ran from one ledge to another, Rodney could see no recognizable sign of the flagship that had borne their friends to the battle, much less any of their remains. Carson sat still and silent. There were no patients screaming with the pain of their death throes, and his hands were not covered with blood. There were only the dead this time, and he felt like a failure. Not only had he allowed Te'Lan to use him to obtain the knowledge that he wanted from Rodney, but now he'd been used to lure his friends to their deaths in the darkness of the waters beneath the keel.

He would have no more of it. Pushing himself to his feet once more, he stood defiantly before the captain, whose gaze bore into his skull. "I'll not let ye use me ta manipulate Rodney or anyone else any more."

Te'Lan folded his arms across his chest and studied Carson astutely. "Ye have guts, I'll give ya that much. But I'm not quite done extracting information from yer friend yet. In fact, I'm fairly sure the Admiralty would be more than happy ta have a go at interrogating him themselves. He seems enough of a smartass genius ta me ta create the weapons we wanted for the ransom all by himself. That means you're expendable. I've no compunction ta kill ya, if that's what it takes."

Rodney blinked with shock and grabbed Carson's arm. "Have you completely lost your mind? They'll kill us!"

"It doesn't matter any more, Rodney!" Carson turned to look at him with stern seriousness, his normally bright blue eyes sunken and dark with grief and despair. "Don't ye see that? Did ye not hear what he just said was goin' ta happen to ye? The rest o' yer team, yer friends, are dead at the bottom of the ocean! As soon as we've told them all we know an' are not so useful any more, they'll kill us anyway! I'd rather he just get it over with."

"Carson…" The scientist thought about it for a few moments as he gazed at his friend sadly, then cast his eyes down at his feet and shut his mouth.

He hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but at that moment, Carson wanted nothing more than just for all of it to be over with. He was tired of the pain that the bruises and infected cuts continually caused him, and he was tired of constantly being hungry, feeling helpless, and being forced to work and suffer for people that didn't care about him or the people he could help. "Rodney, I don't want ta be responsible for any more deaths."

"Get used to it, lad," Te'Lan remarked coldly, then turned to walk away back toward his quarters. "Life is full o' death an' cruelty. No one is above it, not even you or me."

The two off-worlders settled back against the main mast despondently, trying to stay out of the way of the crewmen that were hard at work making repairs and keeping the ship sailing smoothly toward Port Legacy. Hopelessness didn't suit Rodney, but he couldn't help but share Carson's despair. The outlook for their near future certainly didn't seem very promising, and at that moment, he had no argument to present otherwise.

* * *

John carefully managed to lift his eyelids, rousing slowly despite the brightness of the light that shone down from above. The last thing he remembered was being chained in the hold of the port-master's ship and struggling to break free of them as the hold filled with water. He didn't even remember losing his last breath and falling unconscious. But as he roused, he moved his hands a bit to regain feeling in them and heard the faint clink of metal on a hard floor beneath him. He was still wearing the chains. 

Pushing himself stiffly into an upright sitting position, John lifted a hand to block the glaring light from his eyes so he could look around. Henry lay next to him, still unconscious, but more curious was the room. The walls had no windows and were fairly plain, as a prison cell block usually is, but they had the distinct design that he instantly recognized as being of Ancient origin. In fact, the cell that they were in was decidedly similar to those in the city of Atlantis itself.

But before he could contemplate further on how he had managed to get there, the cell door opened with a familiar whoosh and an old man dressed in white robes stepped through. He brandished an Ancient stunner weapon in his left hand and held a life-signs detector in his right.

"You're awake already," the old man whispered with some surprise, more to himself than anybody else in the room, and held out the life-signs detector for John to see. "Where did you get this?"

Feeling his front vest pocket and finding his detector missing, John could only assume that the old man had taken it from him when he was unconscious. "Why should I tell you?"

The old man didn't even flinch. "Because if you don't, I'll kill you."

John smirked and decided to test the waters. "If I have information you need, there's very little chance of that."

A slight, cruel grin crossed the old man's features. "I'm giving you the choice of either dying here and now or dying some time after you tell me what I want to know. It makes little difference to me which you prefer, except that if you tell me something of value, I may decide not to kill you right away. There are plenty of other test subjects for me to choose from regardless of your choice."

He got the distinct impression that the old man didn't care much for life. Not that any and every other Ancient he'd ever met before didn't seem like an arrogant ass, too, but this one seemed to lack any kind of compassion or kindness, even common courtesy. It was like he cared for nothing at all any more.

When John didn't immediately respond, he aimed the weapon carefully at John's chest. But before he could fire, Henry spun around where he lay and kicked out one of his legs, swiftly sweeping the old man off his feet. The weapon clattered along the floor toward the door, and John dove after it.

The old man was too weak to even get to his hands and knees before John had the weapon in hand. Panting with exertion, he lied back and waited for John to fire and attempt to escape.

"Who are you?" John asked authoritatively. "And what is this place?"

"I'm the last of a race long dead," the old man sneered weakly, but without concern. "You will not escape. This outpost's systems will only obey me."

"We'll see about that," John said as he headed for the door.

It opened for him easily, much to the old man's surprise. He gaped with amazement. "Impossible…"

"No, just improbable." John examined the consoles in the large room outside the cell, which were connected to an even larger room with an Ancient control chair. It was nearly identical to the Ancient outpost that had been left on Earth except for an adjoining laboratory off to another side. There were windows outside the cell, and John could clearly see that the outpost was under water.

"So that's how we got here," John reasoned aloud. "You pulled us out of the wreck. Why?"

The old man slowly pushed himself to unsteady feet. "I have been protecting the humans of this world from the Wraith for many generations, and I slept in the stasis chamber between their attempts at culling and the many phases of my research. But I thought the other Alterans had been destroyed long ago, yet here you stand before me."

John momentarily stopped his surveying. "I'm not an Alteran, but I have the gene. You didn't answer my question."

The old man wept for the fate of his race, but his face remained placid and impassive. "I have been performing experiments on these primitive humans for many, many years. You were to be my next test subjects."

"Primitive!?" Henry repeated indignantly.

John held up a hand to silence him, stepping forward. "What kind of experiments were you performing?"

"This outpost was meant for research," the old man replied casually, his eyes blank with the recall of memories long past. "I was still young when I first came here. I was tasked by the council with finding a way to make humans immune to the Wraith, but the council never bothered to check up on us; they were probably destroyed by the Wraith.

"And now, I'm the last of the scientists who were stationed here. I'm dying now, but our work was not in vain." He laughed uncaringly. "Unfortunately for my test subjects, the tests caused hallucinations, delusions, and paranoia. Most of them didn't live long, either, but seeing as though they'd have drowned anyway, they at least had a fighting chance."

Henry was aghast with shock and horror, and John raised the weapon he'd taken. "Your experimentation ends here and now."

The old man still exhibited no concern. "It doesn't matter any more. I'm dying, and once I'm dead, this world will once more be subject to the Wraith's cullings. Can you really stand there and say that my experimentation on just a few of these primitives who would've died anyway wasn't worth the protection and salvation of their entire civilization? I think not."

"Don't give me that line of crap," John sneered, taking a few more steps closer. "None of you Ancients ever ever seemed to care about the means to your ends, and I'm tired of it."

"If only you knew," the old man sighed with annoyance, moving slowly, almost imperceptibly, toward a control panel. "If you knew of the hardships and troubles we have gone through just to create your species, your kind should worship us as Gods."

"Some of us already do," John admitted, not fooled for a second. "Whatever you're planning, it won't work. Move any closer to that panel, and I'll shoot you."

The old man paused, taking a moment to gauge John's reflexes, and made his decision. He leapt for the panel with all the strength that was left in his frail body.

* * *

By the time Te'Lan had finally returned from his quarters, the salvage operation was almost complete. Not much had been found in the waters that had not sunk with the rest of the enemy fleet except for a few waterlogged bundles of food rations that had been left in a the broken hulls that were still left afloat. Jess had overseen the effort and had not uttered a word to the off-worlders. His mood and attitude were quiet and subdued, as if he knew what was to become of them. It left Rodney with a foreboding feeling that could not be shaken. He actually kind of liked the sailor, and he seemed to be liked in return considering the short time he had known them. 

"Ya seem ta have magic aim with those cannons, McKay," Te'Lan said softly. "That'll come in handy in the battle tomorrow."

"Don't count on it," Rodney replied, his voice dripping with contempt. "I'm not helping you kill any more innocent people."

"So you're refusin' ta be of any more use then, are ya?" The captain circled them threateningly, smiling as if Rodney had said the funniest joke he'd heard in some time. "After yer friend's noble speech, I figured so."

Te'Lan removed his pistol from his belt and with his free hand motioned to Jess, who sighed and reluctantly fetched a short length of chain from a corner of the deck. "Bind the good doctor's feet and wrists."

Carson's wrists were bound behind him, and he was promptly forced to stand on the narrow ledge of the gunwalls while the thick chain was wrapped around his ankles. He nearly lost his balance twice, but managed to stand still enough not to fall as Jess finished binding him.

"You an' yer friend are the first men I've met who've ever dared ta defy me." Rodney began to tremble as Te'Lan spoke with an even and untroubled voice, pausing dramatically between sentences to gauge the resultant reactions. "The wandering spirits o' the sea that guide me warned me of ya. They said ye'd destroy me unless I killed the both o' ya first. And do ya know what they're whisperin' ta me right now? Do ya, lad?"

Rodney shook his head emphatically, his trembling increased. Even the rest of the crew had stopped what they were doing to listen, and their faces were full of fear. They'd never heard such omens from their captain before, much less heard him speak openly of the spirits that guided and confided in him. It was an unspoken secret of their captain that was most often ignored in favor of his ruthless nature and the competency he displayed in his position of leadership.

Te'Lan continued, completely serious and unfazed by the craziness of his words. "They're askin' me, nay, beggin' me ta send yer friend down ta meet them at the bottom o' the sea with a bullet in his chest, an' you along with him. So do ya intend ta change yer mind then, or no? This is the last chance I'm goin' ta give ya ta do so."

Rodney's eyes darted back and forth from Carson to the captain and back, and his lips trembled as Carson slowly shook his head with a firm expression. Finally, as his gaze faltered and fell to his feet, he whispered his answer. "No."

It was the answer that Te'Lan had expected, and thus there was no hesitation as he swiftly raised his pistol, aimed for Carson's chest, and then pulled back the hammer. "So be it. But don't worry, lad. You'll at least get ta meet yer friends at the bottom o' the ocean."

But before he could pull the trigger, Rodney cried out with protest and desperately lunged for the weapon. It went off with the loudest crack he'd ever heard in his life, echoing far into the distance across the waters.

Rodney crumpled to the deck with his hands protecting a section of his abdomen. Sprawling out on his back, he carefully lifted his hands only to find a steady stream of blood oozing across his stomach and onto the deck beside him. Looking up at his friend, who still stood on the ledge and struggled to free his wrists, he didn't hear Te'Lan's furious growl of anger, nor feel himself being hauled up to his feet by his neck.

Te'Lan effortlessly tossed him over the gunwalls, knocking Carson off the ledge with him in the process. Rodney saw Carson begin to sink from the weight of the chains. Without being able to kick his feet or move his arms, he knew his friend was a goner. Rodney kicked as hard as he could and just barely managed to catch one of his arms. He struggled to drag him up, and it sapped his energy. Rodney's feet and fingers grew cold and numb as their faces broke the surface of the water.

"Rodney!" Carson yelled between coughs as he heaved in breaths and spat water from his lungs. "Ye've got ta untie my arms an' legs, quickly!"

But Rodney had lost too much blood and was near unconsciousness already. "Carson… I… I can't…"

Carson drew in a great draught of air as Rodney's face paled, his eyes closed, and water engulfed them both.


	15. Looking Forward

A/N: Okay, I'll admit it. The old chapter 15 officially sucked. Here's the new-and-improved version, rewritten for your enjoyment. There's an additional chapter after this one for which you can let me know how you like the changes I've made, if you wish.

* * *

Darkness closed in on him, but strangely, Carson was relatively calm. He still felt the weakening tugging of Rodney's hands on his shoulders, which still burned with both infection and the sting of sea water. The only thing that disturbed the bubble of calm around him was the fact that he knew that Rodney would die with him. He knew his friend would not let go of his arm to save himself. 

But Carson did not give up. He was determined, even after the last of the bubbles leaked from his lungs into the water and flittered up to the dimming surface above him, that he would pull and twist his wrists out of their chain bindings until he no longer had the life and will within him to continue. He only wished that Rodney wouldn't have been stubborn enough to die with him. If he was lucky, he could be rescued and pulled back aboard the ship. If he was lucky, the primitive and unsterilized environment wouldn't cause sepsis in his blood, assuming the pirates who'd killed him were even smart enough to try to bandage him.

No, Rodney wouldn't do that. He was far too lonely and selfish to want to continue living a lonely life as a prisoner of those pirates without his company. Cold tendrils of iciness traveled up Carson's feet and legs, and he knew that the darkness would soon claim him. These thoughts would be his last, and who better to dedicate them to than to Rodney? Even if it was all he had left, his best friend, Rodney, was deserving of such a tribute.

His feet suddenly touched something rock-like and smooth, and Carson could only assume that he had finally reached the bottom. With the last remnants of his consciousness, he looked up at the faint glimmer of the surface many meters above… and saw shimmering ghosts coming for his mortal soul.

Could these have been the spirits that Te'Lan had said spoken of, the ones that he'd claimed guided him? Somehow, it registered in the back of his mind that he could be hallucinating, that the pressure of the water could be about to burst his ear drums. But the ghosts still came for him. One of them reached out for him, whispering familiar musical tones. It was Laura's voice, somehow. She'd come to take him home to Scotland.

An arm thrust down and wrapped itself around his neck, dragging him upward toward what he could only assume was heaven.

"Get them aboard, quickly!" Major Lorne shouted above the din of yelling of pirates, who'd been spurred into action by the rescue in progress. "Come on, hurry it up! They're changing course and bringing their cannons to bear at us!"

He was precariously balancing Jumper 1 over the swells and chop of the shallow sea water centimeters below them. Ronon had volunteered without question to jump into the shark-infested waters to save his friends, and while he dove into the shimmering depths, Lt. Cadman had lowered a rope while Teyla helped pull the injured men to the relative safety of the interior of the jumper. Both Rodney and Carson were unconscious, but as Ronon pulled himself inside, she had felt a weak pulse from them both.

Once Ronon was inside, he dashed to the front. "They're firing at us!"

They had not heard the explosion of cannon-fire through the closing hatch, but the jumper suddenly rocked violently, nearly throwing Lorne from his seat. "We're hit! The Inertial Dampeners are failing, but hull integrity is still pretty much intact and the water isn't too deep. I have to take her down!"

Jumper 1 began to sink rapidly, and as Laura finished checking over Rodney and applying a bandage to his wound, Teyla's breath caught in her throat. "Dr. Beckett… he has stopped breathing."

Laura spun around, her demeanor of military training almost breaking from the force of her panic. Teyla moved to aside, the woman nearly bowling her over as the lack of inertial dampeners tossed them about like marbles in a fishbowl. Laura was dripping sweat, and her hands shook as she felt for a pulse. It was fading fast.

"No, Carson! You're not leaving me now, not after how far we've come!" she screamed, wracked with fear. Cupping her hands together, she pressed on his abdomen and rolled him onto his side to let the water drain from his lungs, then set him back and began artificial respiration. His lips felt waxy and cold against hers, and it drove another spike of panic into her already fragile mask of training.

When he failed to respond, she beat a fist on his chest in frustration and began to shed tears, but did not stop. Several terse minutes passed, and she could almost feel him slipping away. The color had long since leaked from his gentle features. But then he shuddered beneath her, and she saw his jaw and neck clench. His head turned to the side and he let loose what looked like a gallon of sea water onto the floor of the Jumper from his lungs and stomach, then began coughing, sputtering and gasping for air. The blue tinge that had been spreading across his lips slowly began to fade.

Her trembling fingers gently touched his cold and clammy shoulder, mindful of the painfully infected scratches, and his eyes fluttered open. A pale, weak grin crossed his kind features. "Laura, my sweet lassie… ye saved my life."

Laura grinned at him happily, tears of joy rolling freely. She pulled him into a hug, and he happily returned it.

"I hate to spoil the moment, but we've got a serious problem," Lorne said finally, swiveling in the pilot's seat.

"Was there more damage than just the Jumper's inertial dampeners?" Telya asked furtively, rising to take a seat in the co-pilot's seat.

"Yeah," he replied nervously. "It looks like the life-support systems and the engines both have some damage, too. It took nearly all the auxiliary power we had left just to land the Jumper on the bottom safely. We're not going anywhere, and we only have a little over half an hour's worth of air."

Carson sighed, which caused another fit of coughing. "Great, so we're not goin' ta drown, at least. But what the bloody hell are we goin' ta do now? Rodney's a'ready unconscious an' will bleed ta death internally if we don't get him treatment soon, too."

* * *

The smooth floor beneath Henry's feet began to tremble and shake. "Wha-what's going on?"

John had fired before the old man had touched the panel, but was not fast enough to stop his hand from touching a button. It had begun to blink rapidly, and the entire outpost was lighting up, as it came alive.

"I don't know," he said, then bent down over the prone form of the old man, who was still conscious somehow. "What have you done?"

The old man smiled, took a last breath, and spoke once more before his body stilled in his death. "The Wraith will not… take this prize from me. I suggest you run, now… before it is too late."

Taking the life-signs detector from the old man's lifeless hands and placing it in his pocket, John rose and furiously examined the panels around him. "The weapons systems… he set them to overload and the drones in it will explode, destroying the outpost. We've got to find a way out of here, right now!"

Pulling Henry along with him by the arm, John managed to find the outpost's Jumper bay, but the only one left had been disassembled for spare parts. From the looks of it, it had been a long time ago, too. A fine coating of dust had settled over everything. Cursing to himself, John ran a hand through his hair in an effort to concentrate. They were probably too deep under water to swim from an airlock without getting the Bends, nitrogen bubbles in their blood. Was it their only choice?

Suffer a horrible death by nitrogen-bubble-induced brain or lung embolism, or a quick death by a drone explosion; some choice. The floor rocked violently under them, throwing them off their feet. But somehow, John also felt movement. He desperately felt for his radio and, surprisingly, found that it was still there. He had to try.

* * *

The shaking continued to get worse until Lorne had pulled off a panel near the rear hatch looking for another problem with the inertial dampeners. With the power offline, they shouldn't have felt anything… unless they weren't really on the bottom of the ocean after all.

As he experienced the sensation of slow and steady movement, Lorne returned to the pilot's seat and called up what power was left to take some sensor readings. "The sea floor beneath us is unstable. There's some kind of air chamber inside… and it's rising!"

Displaying the sensor readings on the main screen, the five occupants of the Jumper watched in dismay as the depth reading slowly began to shrink.

"How is this possible?" Teyla asked, astonished.

"I don't know," Lorne replied, just as astonished, and then set the sensors to widen the scanning field. "Hold on, let me see if I can scan the interior of the chamber."

"Good Lord!" Beckett cried out as he stared at the scan. "It's an Ancient outpost!"

"There's a buildup of superheated steam on the underside of it that's giving the outpost buoyancy," the Major reported worriedly. "I think it's going to explode, but depending on the structural integrity of the outpost, which seems to be pretty much intact, we may very well reach the surface first. We're gonna need to get out of here, fast."

Carson nodded. "Aye, but why right now? In a few minutes, we'll be close enough ta the surface ta be able ta swim for it."

The radio suddenly crackled to life with what little bit of power was left. _"Sheppard to Jumper 1, come in."_

Teyla thumbed the communication switch. "Colonel! We are glad to hear from you. We feared you were dead! Where are you?"

_"I don't know how you can hear me through all this water, but I'm inside an Ancient outpost at the bottom of the ocean."_

"You're a lucky duck, Colonel," Beckett said loud enough to be transmitted. "I dunno how ye made it through the sinkin' o' that Gulran ship, but we're safe for now in the Jumper an' currently sittin' on the top o' the outpost's dome."

_"Glad you guys were rescued, and just in the nick of time, too. But we're in trouble down here. There was an Ancient left here in stasis, and he's decided to destroy the outpost rather than let it potentially fall into the hands of the Wraith. He set the weapons systems to overload, and I can't stop it. You've got to get to an airlock and get me and Henry out of here!"_

"Sorry, sir," Lorne answered reluctantly, "but the engines are damaged. At the moment, we can't even get out of the water."

_"Damn!"_

"You'll have ta swim for it, Colonel!" Carson pointed out, frowning.

_"Swim?! Are you crazy? The pressure at this depth—"_

"—will make yer eardrums hurt, aye, but not much more," he finished for him. "The outpost is startin' ta rise from the ocean floor, an' it's a'ready close ta the surface. Don't worry, we'll be joinin' ya soon enough. The Jumper's had it."

_"Alright, we'll do it."_

As the radio clicked off, Lorne looked around at the bedraggled and immobile passengers and motioned toward the hatch. "Well, what're you waiting for? Let's get out of here before that thing explodes! Stuff whatever rations and tools you can into your pockets and let's go!"

A moment later, they were ready and waiting by the rear hatch, Ronon with McKay in his arms, and with one deft motion from Lorne, sea water spewed forth and filled the small, cramped space in less than half a minute. The water was murky and dark, but Carson could just make out the silhouettes of the others as they kicked and paddled their way to the shimmering surface. But something was wrong… there was a huge shadow on the water to their right, as if something was blotting out the sunlight at the surface.

When he finally broke the surface, he was so shocked that he nearly forgot to tread water. There in the water next to them was the pirate ship that had dumped him and Rodney into the water, nearly drowning them both. Te'Lan stood over the ledge looking down at them as they surfaced, laughing with unbridled delight, and not looking at all surprised to see them. A few seconds later, Colonel Sheppard and Henry broke the surface as well, panting with exertion.

Carson would've kicked himself had he been able. "Och, crap!"


	16. Life, Death, and Simple Endings

N/A: Here's the last chapter! I hope it was worth the extra wait. I saved the last scene because I simply couldn't bear to rewrite it. This is officially the end of this story. Lots of thanks go to TJuk and HyperCaz for all the support!

* * *

Once Captain Te'Lan had stopped laughing long enough to regain his composure, he smiled cruelly down at them. "Ready yer pistols, lads! A glass o' me best rum goes ta each man who makes a kill-shot tonight!" 

The sound of pistols being drawn and their hammers being cocked sounded crisply through the air. But before the order to fire was given, the ship suddenly began to rock and shudder. The Ancient outpost had risen high enough in the water to tip the hull of the ship, and so the edge of the hull was slipping across the smooth surface along the incline of the dome. Te'Lan was nearly tossed over the side into the water, but managed to turn just in time to grab the side and push himself back. This movement caused him to plow into his first mate. Jess had been hefting his sword and appeared to have been deciding whether or not to stab Te'Lan in the back when the bucking of the ship had made the decision it for him.

"You… traitor!" Te'Lan gasped, vainly attempting to pull the blade from his body as he fell to his knees.

Jess stumbled backward, wrenching his sword free with him. A frightened, almost regretful expression graced his aged features. "Sorry, Cap'n, but ya know yer just too far gone in the head ta command this ship any longer. T'was plain foolish ta risk dumpin' them lads overboard in the first place."

The crew watched Te'Lan's blood soak the deck at Jess's feet, spellbound by the death of a man who many had considered the most ruthless captain they'd known, even if he had been crazy. Without another word, the former first mate dragged the body to the scuppers by the ledge of the gunwalls and pushed it overboard. It sank below the swells of the sea far more quickly than it should have while Jess turned to address the crew. "Te'Lan served Rumaar well, an' he'll be remembered for it. Now throw the lads in the water some rope, and make haste! When yer finished, weigh anchor an' unfurl the sails!"

The crew hesitated for only a moment before they put away their guns and helped Colonel Sheppard, Laura Cadman, Teyla, Lorne, Ronon with Rodney, Carson, and finally Henry up onto the boat. Jess took to his new role as captain fairly quickly, and to his crew's credit, it was only a few minutes before they were all aboard and the ship was ready to depart. The hull slipping on the rising dome had nearly knocked several of them into the water as they had climbed, but the crew was competent and strong, and they were soon heading back on their original course.

Without asking for permission, Carson went to fetch the surgeon's kit that he had used before. None of the crew questioned him as he began cleaning the tools with alcohol in preparation for use. It would be awkward to stop Rodney's bleeding with the primitive tools in the less-than-sterile environment, but he was a good surgeon and managed well enough. Rodney was still unconscious and wouldn't feel the pain, and he'd be able to properly clean and treat the wound later, assuming that he ever got back to his medical kit back in Henry's house at the port.

Once the ship was underway, though, the next most pressing issue at hand was finding out what the new captain intended to do with them. John stepped forward, still soaking wet, but made a sincere effort to at least sound polite. "Thanks for the help back there. I really appreciate it, but I don't understand why you bothered to save us. Are we your prisoners?"

"I honestly haven't decided yet," Jess said, turning back to him. "Cap'n Te'Lan didn't seem ta have such a bad idea in holdin' yer friends ransom. At the very least, if yer friend lives, his knowledge could still be useful… unless, o' course, ya have something of value ta trade for yer freedom instead."

"I'm sorry, but we won't give you weapons," he insisted firmly. "It's against everything we believe in."

Nodding, Jess pondered him thoughtfully. "Whichever country's flag flies over Port Legacy tomorrow, the war will likely be over. We likely won't be in a huge need for 'em then."

John smiled and looked around at the crew, who continued working as if it such a change was almost commonplace. "How about some food, medical supplies, and a few skilled doctors to show you how to use them, then? If your crew is any indication, we might even be able to spare a dentist."

"Aye," the captain laughed with a grimace, rubbing at his jaw. "Now there's somethin' that might very well be worth yer freedom."

Some distance behind the ship, an explosion echoed across the cloudless skies. A mushroom-shaped plume of steam erupted from the water, and a shockwave hardly big enough to sway the ship rippled across the waters.

* * *

_Tick… tick… tick… tick…_

It was the ticking of an old grandfather clock. Or, at least, something that sounded like one. The sound grated on Rodney's nerves incessantly. Another person might have been calmed by such a steady and rhythmic tone, but not Rodney. It was just another reminder to him that he was waking up to a horrible haze of pain and morphine. He groaned, trying to roll over onto his stomach in an effort to go back to sleep, but gave up when he found the movement caused intense pain to shoot through his abdomen.

"Easy, Rodney," a soothing voice with a Scottish brogue assured him. A cool hand suddenly held his, feeling his wrist for his pulse. "If yer not careful, you'll pull your stitches."

Rodney turned his head slowly and felt drool at the corner of his mouth. He mumbled softly, his voice cracking and sounding weak. He'd tried to say 'Go away'.

"What was that ye said?" Carson asked, sounding closer.

Colonel Sheppard spoke then. "Was that even English?"

Rodney's eyes shot open. "Colonel Sheppard?"

"Yeah, Rodney. It's me."

He tried to sit bolt upright and immediately regretted it. Clutching at his stomach and fighting off a wave of medication-induced nausea, Rodney grimaced, very near to tears and not entirely due to pain. "You're alive! I… We thought you were dead. We saw the ship you were on sink."

John smirked. "It's a long story and you need your rest, so I'm not going to even try explaining it right now."

Rodney nodded, wearing an expression that resembled both relief and disappointment. His head began to swim, and dizziness threatened to overcome him.

"Lay back down before ye hurt yourself more," Carson demanded sternly, placing a firm hand on his chest. "I only just managed ta finish cleanin' up yer wound with my medical kit yesterday, an' your fever just broke a couple of hours ago."

Reluctantly complying with the doctor's orders, Rodney shook his head. "I need to know. How did we get back here? What happened to the ship?"

"Ye certainly missed out on a hell of fight while recovering, Rodney," Carson assured him with a smile. "Jess killed Captain Te'Lan, took command o' the ship, and then led the fleet's attack on Port Legacy himself. We were picked up by another Jumper not long after it started, which is why you're alive right now, but we heard he an' his entire crew won the battle by quite a wide margin. Jess, his entire crew, and now Henry as well are likely still celebrating in the pub as we speak. Either that, or they're dead from alcohol poisonin'."

John grinned with more cheer than he actually felt and rubbed at his head tiredly. The memory of all the celebrating they had done the night before last and the hangover he'd woken up with yesterday still plagued him, amazingly. "Yeah, those guys sure know how to party. It took them less than four hours to pillage and destroy the entire Gulran navy parked at Port Legacy, but the hangover from the booze will haunt you for days. Ronon and Teyla are sleeping off their own hangovers on the couches downstairs. Of course, Carson stayed with you most of the time."

Rodney nodded again and was almost glad he'd missed out on their fun. Drinking and carousing wasn't really his thing.

After Colonel Sheppard had finished giving Rodney his well-wishes and made enough hints to be awarded a Tylenol from Carson, he left Rodney and Carson to rest. Atlantis was due to contact them again in less than an hour, and he was sure as hell ready to leave this place.

But Carson remained at Rodney's bedside, staring down at the sheets that his friend had kicked off of him in his sleep. He was lost in thought and unsure of how to say what was on his mind.

"Will you quit staring at me like that?" Rodney complained after a few minutes. "It makes me nervous that you're worried I'm going to die." Then, after a few seconds, something occurred to him. "I'm not going to die, am I?"

Carson sighed. "No, Rodney. You're not goin' ta die. I'm just…"

The scientist blinked. "Just what?"

"I just…" Carson trailed off, and then resolved himself to just get it over with. "I suppose I just need to say 'thank ye'."

"For what?" Rodney asked incredulously. "You're the one who just saved my life. I should be thanking you."

He smiled at the nearly admitted gratitude from his friend. Even though he didn't actually say it, Carson knew it was sincere. "I'm thankin' ye for keeping hope, Rodney. I'd almost lost hope for a while there. I was just doin' my job an' tryin' tae stay alive, but you… ye didn't give up when things got tough. Ye didn't let me die when they threatened ta kill me. So, thank you."

For a moment, Carson thought Rodney might actually say, 'You're Welcome'.

"Oh, cut out the wishy-washy tear-jerker nonsense, will ya? The last thing I need right now is to be overcome with tears of joy and laughter."

Carson shook his head and smiled away his frustration. The man just couldn't take a compliment. "Better turn yer head, then, before ye toss yer cookies on my boots from the sight of yer own blood. It's about time ta change yer bandages again."

* * *

The wind was blowing powerfully strong that night, but it had rained earlier and the sand beneath their feet was too wet to blow into their faces too much. Carson Beckett and Lt. Laura Cadman held hands as they strode happily along the moonlit beach toward the lighthouse, a cool and breezy wind disheveling their hair despite Laura's numerous attempts to tame hers. 

Henry had told him about the lighthouse, had treated them to another fine meal that next evening, this one thankfully uneventful, and had promised his eternal gratitude and friendship. After bidding him a fond farewell, Carson had felt obligated to do something special for the women he owed his life.

As she glanced over at him, Laura discreetly admired the sight of his now tanned skin since he'd had time to recover for the most part. She blushed at the sight of his loose-fitting white shirt that rippled with the wind, along with a dark red sash that fluttered behind him. He'd borrowed them from Henry, and she had to admit that the simple clothing certainly flattered him.

Laura smiled, gazing sweetly at him, and he returned the look, grinning happily. She had chosen to wear her simple uniform and jacket, and although it wasn't overly feminine, he appreciated the way her strawberry-blonde hair flowed behind her and how she smiled at him. Squeezing her hand, he urged her forward to walk closer to the lighthouse that stood protectively before them and over the inlet behind them.

"Come, love," Carson said just loud enough to be heard over the strong wind. "There's somethin' I want ye tae see."

Carson urged her up the walkway that led to the steps that circled around and up to the top of the lighthouse. As they reached the top and Laura looked out, she sighed at the beauty that lay before her. She could see the streetlamps of the port stretching into the darkness to the west, and saw moonlight glinting on the surface of the churning water below and out to the east. A fine mist blew over the surface of the water, creating a faint haze that dampened the sharpness of the glinting just enough to make it one of the most beautiful sights she'd ever seen.

"It's wonderful," Laura said softly, only just barely audible over the wind. "I don't know how I would've managed out there all alone on a pirate ship."

Carson smiled at her reassuringly and put his hands on the railing to distract himself from the harsh memories with the beauty of the scene. "Well, I wasn't really alone. Rodney was there, too, an' as much as it pains me tae say it, I don't think I would'a made it through all that if I'd been alone. There was a moment when I'd just about given up hope, but he held together for me. I'll have tae thank him properly when he's up an' around again."

Laura turned to face him and smiled again. "Well, I'm glad you weren't alone, then. How is Rodney, anyway? Is he doing alright?"

"Oh, aye," Carson laughed uneasily. "T'was a clean wound. It stitched up nicely. In fact, he's catchin' up on his sleep in the infirmary as we speak, an' so is Colonel Sheppard an' just about everyone else except us. But I do want tae say… thank you. You saved my life and Rodney's life, an' I'm grateful for it."

"Does that mean I've earned a kiss today?" Laura asked, grinning playfully.

Carson returned her smile warmly as he gazed into her eyes. "Ye've earned much more than that."

Without another word, the pair slunk off into the darkened interior of the lighthouse, wrapping their arms about each other to ward off the chill of the wind that wafted inside. Smiling to himself in the darkness as he held Laura close, her touch healing the wounds of his soul as surely as the wounds of his body were healing, Carson couldn't help but wonder if perhaps this planet hadn't been such a bad place after all.

THE END


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